


Friendship and Other Terrible Ideas

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Asshole Cats, Kilts, M/M, Not me that's for sure, ill-advised abuse of a kilt, really a startling amount of smut, romantic domesticity, threats against office vending machines, who needs conflict in a 60000-word fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: “This is Mr. Boyd, he’s just joined us here at Westfold, Edoras, Trollshaws, and Archet,” Pete Jackson said. “Mr. Boyd, this is Mr. Monaghan, he keeps the phones answered and the coffee hot, he’ll get you set up on the interoffice messaging system, the copier and facsimile machines, and so on.” Pete shoved his hands deep into his pockets, straining his overworked braces further, and beamed upon them both. “He’ll show you how we do things around here.”





	1. CHAPTER ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pippinmctaggart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippinmctaggart/gifts).



> Endless and heartfelt thanks to pippinmctaggart, who, more than 10 years after we met, is still providing beta services, ridiculously kind encouragement, and occasional adverb wrangling (it would have been much worse without her; marvel, o ye mortals, at Pi's adverb abuse), as well as pointing out impossible anatomical angles and positions when my characters suddenly seem to have three arms or other unlikely characteristics. She deserves far better than this paltry thank-you note, and any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

“Mr. Monaghan.”

“Mm,” Dom said, minimizing his solitaire screen and looking up alertly. “Yes, Mr. Jackson?”

His boss shifted slightly and Dom realized someone was standing behind him—a slight man with wispy fair hair, wearing a button-down shirt and tie. Another junior executive, then.

“This is Mr. Boyd, he’s just joined us here at Westfold, Edoras, Trollshaws, and Archet,” Pete Jackson said. “Mr. Boyd, this is Mr. Monaghan, he keeps the phones answered and the coffee hot, he’ll get you set up on the interoffice messaging system, the copier and facsimile machines, and so on.” Pete shoved his hands deep into his pockets, straining his overworked braces further, and beamed upon them both. “He’ll show you how we do things around here.”

“That I will,” Dom said.

Boyd edged further around Pete and offered a hand across the high counter. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

Dom looked at his hand, then his face. He’d have to stand to shake Boyd’s hand, and if he stood, Pete would be able to see that he’d worn jeans to the office again, and he’d be in for a ticking off later. “Fist bump?” he offered. “Parcel delivery bloke just came through and he’d a terrible cold, haven’t had a chance to sanitise my hands yet.”

Boyd raised an eyebrow, a fleeting expression of amusement crossing his features, but he gamely curled his hand into a loose fist. Dom bumped it with his own. “Welcome to Weta.”

“Thanks,” Boyd said. “And thanks for not giving me the plague.” He had a light voice to match his slight figure, and a Scottish lilt.

“Boyd will be in Sandyman’s office,” Pete confided in a low voice, which went back to his usual bluff tone with his next words: “He’ll be there once I’ve introduced him about, if you want to stop by later and help him get logged into the system—in fact you’ll need to show him how to do it, as it will be part of his duties. I’m sure Ms. Otto can watch the phones for you for a few minutes.”

Not a junior exec, then; IT, and there to replace poor stupid Ted. “Not a problem, Mr. Jackson,” Dom said. “I know Miranda will be happy to help out.” He quashed a smirk and fluttered his lashes winningly.

“Very good, very good. Come along, Mr. Boyd, let me show you the break room, it’s got a fantastic view.”

“That sounds nice,” Boyd said, trailing along behind Pete. He glanced back at Dom and gave him a half-wave.

 _Just another techie nerd_ , Dom thought. He opened solitaire again.

 

…

 

“Getting sorted?” Dom asked, leaning against the doorway of the server room.

Boyd was tucked behind the desk, poking cautiously through the stacks of paper littered across its surface. “Aye,” he said absently. “Not a big believer in saving trees, was he?”

“Who, Ted? No, he’d no business working in IT at all, much less trying to run it,” Dom said. “You can probably throw all that in the recycle bin.”

“So I’m coming to believe,” Boyd said, and Dom watched, amused, as he gathered the stacks into one messy armful and dumped them unceremoniously into the blue bin beside the desk. “So, what’re you here for?” He squinted at Dom as though trying to place him. “And how is it you get to wear jeans while everyone else suffers wool trousers?”

Dom grinned. “I’m Dom, a-k-a Mr. Monaghan,” he said. “S’why I didn’t stand when you wanted to shake hands, Pete’s always on about ‘proper office attire.’”

“I’m Billy,” the Scot said. “Doesn’t he catch you out when you walk to the toilets, then?”

Dom sauntered in and perched on the rickety rolling chair in front of Boyd’s desk. “Nah, he never comes all the way to the front, he’s a workaholic. If you do your job well you’ll never see him, he’ll just stay in his hole and give the orders via email or messenger. And he’s the only one who gives a rat’s arse about how we dress. It’s not like clients come in; the only people I ever see at the front are lost estate agents looking for the next floor up, and delivery people. I could do my job naked for all it matters.”

Boyd raised an eyebrow. “What about me, then? I’m even more behind the scenes than you.”

“You could be naked, too,” Dom said, sprawling back in the rolly chair.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Boyd said. “Maybe my second week, though.” He turned the keyboard upside down and shook it, making a face as crumbs and dust rained down onto the worktop. “Ugh.”

“There’s a mini-fridge somewhere in here,” Dom said. “You should probably just donate it to science. Whatever was in it has probably developed intelligence by now.”

“No doubt,” Boyd said, looking around—perhaps for the mini-fridge.

“New to London, then?” Dom asked.

“Aye,” he said. “Got the job and moved down for it.”

Dom nodded. “It’s a good place to work,” he said.

“That’s nice to know,” Boyd said. He wrinkled his nose at the crumbs on his desk and brushed the dirt onto the floor before tapping at the keyboard, squinting at the computer screen. “Maybe the fridge life should be the IT director,” he muttered, now frowning at the screen. “How’m I supposed to… oh! _That’s_ what you’re supposed to do,” Boyd said, snapping his fingers and looking at Dom. “Get me on the intranet.”

Dom fished a crumpled slip of paper from one pocket and waved it. “User name and password,” he sang. Boyd took it and began tapping at the keyboard again. “The manuals for all this are at my desk,” Dom said. “They’ve had me keeping up with all of it since Ted left in April.”

“Five months ago?” Boyd said. “Why’d they wait so long to hire someone?”

“Did they tell you anything about why Ted left?” Dom asked, tipping his head to the side and swiveling back and forth in the chair.

Boyd sat back from the computer for the first time. “No, although I’ve gathered from people’s reactions to meeting me that I’m either the second coming of Jesus or a Trojan horse.”

“So Ted, he was a shit IT guy,” Dom said. “Pete and Fran do all the hiring and usually they’re spot on when it comes to sizing people up. Sometimes they’ll even hire someone who doesn’t know the job, because they can just tell they’ll pick it up. I don't know what Ted was, maybe a pity hire, but he was a gobshite.” Boyd was listening quietly; he had a good listening face, Dom thought. He was kind of cute. “It turns out Ted was sort of a leftover from the last company in this space; Ted worked in IT for them and when they moved out and Weta rented the floor, Ted asked if Pete needed IT help, and offered to stay on. Pete said yes, which was basically the only stupid thing he’s ever done in business.” Dom paused.

“That explains the people who think I’m a dead ringer for Jesus,” Billy said. “What about the others?”

“Oh, turns out Ted was selling business info to his old boss, Bill Ferny,” Dom said breezily.

Boyd blinked. “Wow. Nowhere to go but up,” he said. He looked at his computer screen again. “What applications do you use for email and interoffice messaging?”

Dom stood. “Come up front for the manuals,” he offered. “I have to get back, any road. If Miranda has to answer phones for too long she gets a bit snippy.”

Boyd rose. “Does she?”

“Just a touch.”

Miranda threw a pen at Dom’s face when he came round the corner into view. Dom ducked and it bounced off Boyd’s forehead. He reared back, eyes round, and Miranda swanned past with a brief—and insincere—“Sorry!” to him, and a death glare at Dom, who was still bent over, now with laughter.

“Ta, ducks!” Dom called after her; she flipped him two fingers without turning around and vanished into her office.

All four phone lines were blinking angrily red; Dom dropped into his chair and held a finger up to silence Boyd. “Weta, this is Dom, please hold,” he sang, one time after another after another until he’d cycled through them all. He put the phone down with a feeling of accomplishment and shoved his textbooks further out of view beneath the counter’s overhang, then ducked to pull the dusty binders and manuals from where he’d stashed them back in May.

That was when it had become clear that Pete’s hurt feelings meant he was in no hurry to replace Ted (no matter how much Fran, his co-owner, nagged him), and dealing with lost passwords somehow became Dom’s bailiwick, as the youngest person who was not actually an intern. “Here you are,” he said, slamming them down on the counter and slouching immediately back into his chair. “Your problems, forever and ever, amen.”

Boyd looked like he was trying not to gape. “All right, then,” he said, “I’ll just take these back to my lair.” He gathered the stack and staggered away.

Dom watched him go—he’d a nice arse, and Dom bet it would look good in jeans—and then sighed. He supposed he ought to put out whatever raging bonfires Miranda had left ablaze.

“Weta, this is Dom, how may I help you?” he said, and propped his chin on his hand, eying his neglected textbooks and wondering if he could get in a spot of reading before lunch.

 

…

 

Three days later, Boyd showed up at the front counter again. It took Dom a second to notice Billy; he hovered indecisively where the corridor opened to Dom’s tiny front-office demesne.

“Lost, mate?” Dom asked, looking back down at his hands. He was painting his nails midnight blue. The left hand was easy, since he was right-handed; he finished the pinky and then waved his hand through the air to dry it. No sense in starting the right hand until the left had a couple good coats.

Boyd approached, hands stuck in his pockets. He wasn’t wearing jeans, but he’d abandoned the tie and his trousers were a half-step up from cargos, if that. It was an improvement. “Do you have a minute? I don’t want to bother you.”

Dom looked up at him, puffing air upward to get his fringe out of his eyes. “I think I can spare you a moment,” he said, dry as the Sahara; he glanced pointedly down at his still-wet nails, then back at Boyd.

Boyd grinned. “Right, then. Listen, you said Sandyman was terrible at IT, yeah?”

“The worst.” Dom started in on a second coat. “He was no kind of IT nerd at all. His advice consisted solely of ‘Have you tried turning it off and back on again?’”

“To be fair,” Boyd said, “that isn’t always bad advice, as a first step.”

“It’s just when it’s also the second, third, fourth, tenth, and twentieth step that it gets to be a problem,” Dom said. He eyed the other man. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” Boyd fidgeted; he propped his elbows on the high counter and looked diffident. “I actually wanted to ask you something about Mr. Jackson, sort of.”

Dom raised an eyebrow. “Pete? What’s up?”

Boyd straightened and rubbed the back of his neck. “When he hired me, he told me that he’d support any tech changes I wanted to make.”

He hesitated; Dom painted another fingernail and said, “And?”

“And, Sandyman was using really bad software. And hardware. And even where the software wasn’t terrible, he never installed updates.” Boyd talked with his hands as much as his mouth; he was waving them around as he spoke. “The whole system is shaky as anything, and as far as security, well—there isn’t any. He could still be selling Weta’s secrets to his old bosses, or the Russians, or fucking _aliens_ , as far as I can tell.” His eyes widened. “Oops, sorry about that.”

“What?” Dom asked, honestly puzzled.

“Ehm. Cursing?” Boyd’s hands were suddenly still, flat on the countertop.

Dom smirked. “You should apologize, that was terrible. You’ll need to learn to curse much more effectively if you’d like to survive Weta.”

Boyd grinned. “Is that right? I’ll work on that, then.” He looked mischievous, and Dom grinned right back at him.

“Not on the phone with a customer, or where they might hear if they’re on the phone with someone else,” Dom said. “Other than that, just don’t be an arsehole and you can curse up a bloody storm.”

“Good to know,” Boyd said. “Anyway, what I wanted to ask was, did Mr. Jackson really mean it, when he said he’d support changes to the systems?” His hands resumed waving around. “What’s in place now is _terrible_ , it’s so bad I’m surprised you haven’t been sued by clients for breach of contract, and I could improve that a bit—I’ve already updated passwords, closed a bunch of backdoors into the systems, and stuff like that. But Weta really needs a whole new system, top to bottom, if it wants to avoid something—well, something _bad_.”

Dom couldn’t stop staring at Boyd’s hands. “Like what?”

There they went again. “Like, massive data leaks? Like, being hacked? Like, having the company website sabotaged? Like, all the servers overheating? Like, the phones and computers catching fire and perhaps causing a global financial meltdown?”

He was getting worked up about it all, Dom thought, and replied, “Bad like that, hm?” Boyd was even cuter when he got all worked up. “Listen, the thing about Pete is that if he said that, he meant it. If he said he’d support your changes, he will. But,” Dom pointed the nail polish brush at Boyd, “if it’s going to cost a lot, you should go to him and tell him what you just told me.”

“So—okay.” Boyd took a deep breath. “I can do that. Good to know.”

Dom tilted his head. “Why’d you come and ask me?”

Boyd looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, actually. You just seemed approachable, I s’pose.”

“I’m very approachable,” Dom said. “Your instincts are spot on.” He winked, and instead of blushing, as Dom had half-thought he would, Boyd grinned at him.

“Also good to know.” The grin smoothed into a smile. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“You can pay me back right now if you want,” Dom said.

It was Boyd’s turn to tilt his head. “How’s that?” he asked.

“Paint my nails,” Dom said, and put the little bottle on the countertop in front of Boyd. “I’m shit at painting with my left hand.”

Boyd laughed. “Too bad for you,” he said, backing away with his hands up. “I have a meeting with the boss to get to. Somebody told me I should talk to him.”

Dom pouted. “That’s gratitude for you,” he said.

“Another time,” Boyd said, still smiling. “I do owe you. Thanks again.” He turned and strode toward the innards of the office—headed, no doubt, straight to Pete’s office.

Dom retrieved his bottle of polish and began shakily painting his right-hand fingernails. “He owes me a manicure is what it is,” he muttered to himself, and wondered if he could finagle a new computer out of Boyd’s no-doubt-inevitable upgrades. It would make the online courses that much easier, if his computer didn’t overheat and shut down every day or so.

 

…

 

There was a new computer, and there was a new phone system, and there were miles of cabling, and Boyd vanished from sight for a few weeks, except when he was crawling under people’s desks or perching on chairs to run cabling along the tops of walls. (Both processes gave Dom an excellent view, and his interest in the IT director shot up a notch the first time Billy Boyd came to work in jeans.)

There was a moment—a specific instant in time—when Dom realized he was in serious trouble. It was a small thing, a normal day. It was long enough after the great denims reveal that Dom had grown accustomed to admiring Billy’s rear view; long enough after they’d taken to having lunch at the same time that Dom had stopped referring to the IT director as Boyd, even in his head.

“Are you busy, Dom?”

“Wildly,” Dom said. He wasn’t; he was never busy. He made a show of closing his solitaire game and turned an attentive gaze to Billy. “How may I serve you?”

Billy blinked and went very slightly pink. “You need to run an update on your computer.”

“Okay,” Dom said, and turned back to his computer. “What do I do?”

“Ehm,” Billy came around the counter and stood behind Dom. “Go to your email, you should have something from me.”

Dom kicked his rucksack aside to make room for Billy, opened his email and found it. “This one?”

“Yes,” Billy said. “Click on the attachment and drag it to your desktop.”

“There are two attachments,” Dom said.

Billy leaned down to look over his shoulder. “Ach, that’s annoying,” he said, “it’s the second one.”

“What’s the other one?” Dom asked, clicking and dragging on the right icon.

Billy made a brief noise in his ear. “Nothing, the system keeps adding my email signature as an attachment instead of an in-line graphic,” he said.

Dom had no idea what that meant but he didn’t care and couldn’t have asked for clarification had his life depended on it. Billy’s voice right in his ear, the warm brush of his breath against Dom’s neck, seemed to have turned him to stone. Dom swallowed, blinked, and forced the hand on the mouse to move, double-clicking on the icon again. “Just run this, then?” he said, and his voice sounded slightly higher than usual in his own ears.

“Aye,” Billy said. “But hold up,” he shifted, shouldered in beside Dom, leaning down, reaching over him to move the mouse as a new window popped up, “we’re going to execute the file, but first I need to map you to another server.”

“Okay,” Dom said, moving his hand hurriedly off the mouse, tucking it into his lap as Billy knelt—he _fucking knelt_ —on the floor beside Dom’s chair. At least he wasn’t breathing onto Dom’s neck anymore, but now Dom couldn’t stop looking at his profile, his eyes bright and focused on the computer screen, the way his hair curled behind his ear, his eyelashes and nose and the way his lips pursed as he worked, and holy hell, he smelled good—like soap and maybe cologne? Something, Dom wasn’t sure. He sat frozen, staring as Billy commandeered the keyboard, too, reaching across Dom to tap in a few quick directions, murmuring under his breath. Finally he double-clicked on the desktop icon, starting the program execution, and sat back onto his heels.

“That should do it,” he said, and glanced up at Dom.

“Great,” Dom said, and definitely did not lean down to kiss him.

He was in such serious trouble.

Billy seemed to sense something of the sort, or to sense something, anyway, for he went pink again and pulled himself to his feet, backing out of Dom’s space. “So, that closes off another security issue, and you’ll have access to the IT server now, too.” He went around the counter and took up his more usual position, leaning onto his elbows as he spoke to Dom. “Pete wants me to teach you the new system set-ups, in case I’m hit by a bus or I’m ill and someone needs help resetting their passwords or anything.”

Dom cleared his throat. “Does that come with a pay rise?” he asked, trying for cheeky.

“Why not?” Billy replied, smiling. “Twenty pounds for every lost password reset, fifty if you have to convince them to change their password from ‘1-2-3-4’.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dom said, startled. “Surely they don’t?”

“They can’t, not with the new system I’ve set up,” Billy said. “But they’ll still try. Idjits,” he said fondly. “Ought to be punished for it.”

“By spanking,” Dom said, unable to stop himself, or to stop the silly grin that split his face when Billy laughed.

“Give a whole new meaning to hostile workplace,” he said. He straightened and turned away. “Back to my lair. I’ll teach you the new system soon, let me get it installed on everyone’s computers so you’ll have someone to practice on.”

“Can’t wait,” Dom said, and when Billy was gone he spun around in his desk chair, just for the hell of it and because he couldn’t stand to be still.

He was in such.

Trouble.


	2. CHAPTER TWO

“Wanna go down the pub?”

Billy looked up, saw Dom’s tousled blonde head sticking through the open door. “Is it six already?” he asked, glancing at the clock on his monitor.

“Five after,” Dom said. “There’s a tapas place down the road that has good drinks specials till seven.” 

Billy leaned back, reaching up and back to stretch. “That sounds good.” He stood and tucked his phone into his back pocket; bent to stop his music player and shut down the computer. “Let me change,” he said, and Dom came all the way in and leaned against the doorway.

“Carry on,” he said, and leered.

“You’re going to be really disappointed in a minute,” Billy said, and unbuttoned his office shirt to reveal a t-shirt below it.

Dom stuck his tongue out. “Such a spoilsport,” he said.

“A master of suspense,” Billy corrected. He tossed the button-down onto the back of his chair and grabbed his jacket from a hook as he passed Dom. “Take me to your tapas.”

“Your wish is my command,” Dom said, and tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked beside Billy.

It was nippy outside, one of the first really chilly days of fall, and they hurried through the cold air, not talking much. The bar was two streets over and up a staircase; when Dom opened the door and ushered Billy in, the warmth and noise washed over them. It was busy and crowded, acoustic guitar coming from speakers and the bar and most tables occupied. “I see a place,” Dom said into Billy’s ear, stepping past and wrapping his hand around Billy’s wrist to tow him through the crowd.

Billy let himself be led to a tiny, teetering table near the back corner. There was a balcony outside, closed at the moment, and Dom sat and stripped off his coat, tossing it over one chair. “They mostly do wine here, is that all right?”

“Sure,” Billy said, “anything’s fine, as long as it’s red and not too sweet.”

Dom nodded and disappeared, eeling his way through the press of people.

Billy sat, shrugging his jacket off and onto the back of his seat. He poked at his phone for a moment—no texts, no calls—and rotated his head on his neck. He was tired—three weeks of lugging equipment, crawling about on the floor, running cable, had taken their toll. He’d been shocked at how amenable Jackson had been to all his proposed changes. They hadn’t been cheap, but Jackson had listened to Billy’s proposals, asked sharp questions about what they needed and why, and then given him—well, not quite carte blanche, but close.  
There was still plenty to be done, but the heavy lifting was probably mostly over. He’d have to dig his weights out of their box, finally, if he wanted to keep up the workout.

Dom was back, two large and generously full wine glasses in his hands, a waiter behind him with platefuls of appetizers. “It’s a Tempranillo,” Dom said, “hope that’s okay.”

“It’s red,” Billy said, shrugging as he took the glass. He slid his phone aside as Dom sat, and the waiter set small plates down until the table was crowded.

“Cheers,” Dom said, lifting his own glass—also red—and Billy clinked his glass against Dom’s.

They ate and drank and talked, leaning in to be heard, trading tales about terrible workplaces, mostly. Dom seemed to have even more energy than usual, and Billy listened to him rattle on, watched him fidget and move, the way his hands waved around as he spoke. Billy found himself wondering what Dom was like in bed; felt his face heat and covered his moment of confusion by burying his nose in his glass, finishing it off.

“Another?” Billy asked, and when Dom nodded, he stood, waving him back into his chair. “I’ve got it. Any more food?”

“Always,” Dom said, and Billy grinned, nodded, slid away.

He pushed his way to the bar and waited his turn, leaning onto the dark wood, thinking about Dom. Was this a date? He peered over his shoulder; Dom was leaning back in his chair, trying not to get caught watching him, Billy thought, and he smiled and brought his attention back to the bar as his turn finally came. “Two house reds, something dry, and another plate of tapas,” Billy said over the chatter, and the bartender nodded, turned away.

What if it _was_ a date? Billy had a rule about not dating people he worked with, but the full glass of wine and small amount of food were competing with good sense, and being sensible was losing. Dom wasn’t conventionally handsome, Billy guessed, but he was sexy as hell. All that energy, the low baritone rumble of his laugh, his lean limbs and be-ringed hands with their often-painted fingernails. He had an ease about him, a carelessness that set something warm and wanting loose in Billy in a way that was distinctly hungry.

And stupid, Billy reminded himself. Very stupid. He paid and took the wine glasses and plates, balancing carefully, lifting them overhead to avoid jostling them as he made his way back to their table. “I’ve returned victorious,” he said, settling it all onto the rickety surface.

“Murdered those poor, defenseless grapes.” Dom lifted his glass to Billy. “That their sacrifice may not be in vain,” he said solemnly.

Billy touched his own glass to Dom’s. “We honour their passing,” he said. Dom’s grin was wide and flirtatious, and Billy felt his resolve to stay out of Dom’s trousers sliding away, chased by the wine and the food and the way Dom’s eyes met his from under the tangle of his fringe, slid away, came back: again and again, cheerful and sharp and glad to be there, it seemed.

…

“Where d’you live?” Dom asked.

They’d each had three glasses of wine; Billy felt comfortable and loose-limbed and pleased with the world, and he answered without hesitation, “Northern line, Whetstone.” He met Dom’s eyes and felt immediately warmer. “D’you, ehm—would you like to see it?”

Dom grinned. “Yes,” he said, and Billy felt the warmth turn into a happy buzz.

They made their way outside into the darkness, and Billy looked around, trying to figure out how to get from where they were to home. Dom laughed and dug out his phone. “Moorgate Station is the best,” he said, peering down at the brightly lit screen. “This way.”

They huddled into their jackets and walked quickly southeast. The streets weren’t empty, but they weren’t busy either; a few couples walking to late dinners or parties, some traffic but not that much. “We can cut through here,” Dom said, tugging Billy off the sidewalk; they crossed a deserted parking lot and an open area of paving where two buildings nearly met, connected by an enclosed catwalk overhead.

“Christ,” Billy said, as they rounded a corner and were met by the wind, “where’d that come from?”

“Cold?” Dom asked, and when Billy nodded, shivering a little, Dom swerved gently into him, pushed him back against the bricks of the dark office building and crowded close. “Care for a warm-up?” he said, and Billy smiled and lifted his face from his collar, let his eyes fall shut and met Dom’s lips with his own. Dom pressed against him, mouth warm and soft, one hand on Billy’s arm, one curved around his neck.

They kissed that way for a moment, sweet and curious. Dom tasted of red wine and spices, warmth and curiosity flaring with the quick heat of a kindled match. Billy pulled his hands from his pockets and slid them into Dom’s hair; pulled him closer as the kiss opened, deepened. He felt Dom’s hands tighten on him even as he reeled slightly with the heat of it, desire curling from his center into his limbs.

Dom pulled away to breathe, rested his forehead against Billy’s. “Warmer?”

Billy kept his eyes closed, smiled again. “Much warmer.” _So much for not being stupid_.

“Walk faster,” Dom said, grabbing his hand for a moment, pulling him along through the night, and Billy laughed and let the hesitation float away and followed him.

They stopped to kiss three more times, found an empty car on the Northern line and kissed for five minutes straight, Dom’s silky hair tangled around his fingers, laughter lurking in the corners of his mouth, every part of him tempting—jaw, neck, the hidden place just behind his ear hot against Billy’s tongue as Dom gasped a little, slid his hand under Billy’s jacket and across his ribs, over his t-shirt. They kissed until the train stopped at the next station and other people boarded. Dom took Billy’s hand, tucked it into his own, pulled their intertwined hands into his pocket and ran his thumb over Billy’s knuckles restlessly, his knee bouncing until Billy lifted his foot and set it atop Dom’s.

“All right there?” he asked.

Dom squeezed his hand where it was hidden and nodded, eyes flicking to Billy and then away. A crooked smile quirked his lips. “Yep. Just wishing for more privacy.” He tipped his head back against the glass, eyes closed against the glare of the fluorescent lights, and Billy stared for a moment, wishing abruptly for privacy himself, because he wanted very much to lick, taste Dom’s neck, his jaw, his mouth—again.

“Me, too,” Billy said belatedly; the train rounded a curve and he was pressed against Dom from shoulder to knee for a pleasantly agonising moment.

They got off the train at Totteridge and Whetstone; Billy led the way through the station, back on familiar ground. Dom jogged ahead and jittered, waiting for him like an eager pup; Billy laughed and strode through the station to join him. They stepped out of the lighted entry into the darkness of the night, and, “This way,” Billy said, but as they were about to pass the dark windows of an estate agents’ office a few shops down, he stopped Dom, pressed him back against the glass and kissed him again, a little messy, a little urgent. When Dom stopped to suck in air, Billy nosed at his cheek, his ear, laying kisses along the skin—a little rough with the evening’s stubble, flushing as Dom’s breath hitched and he let his head fall back so Billy could kiss his neck, the line of his crooked jaw.

“Mmm,” Dom said, hands on Billy’s waist, “let’s go, come on.” He pushed Billy back, grinning at him, teeth and eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Come on.”

“Good idea,” Billy said, and they got all the way across the High Road before they stopped again, this time just past the bus stop. Dom pulled Billy into the space where the streetlamp threw shadows and kissed him hard, hands in his hair, mouth insistent. “Just a little further,” Billy said, laughing as Dom reeled him in tightly for a moment.

“Good,” Dom said, and stepped back with one last intent kiss.

It was just a little further, and Billy got his door open with a minimum of fumbling. He stepped aside so Dom could pass him in the tiny entrance hall; shut and locked the door behind them. “Want the tour?” he asked, stepping into the lounge as Dom flipped on the light.  
“Does it have a happy ending?” Dom asked, grinning, and Billy laughed.

“It certainly could,” he said. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Let me do a couple of things,” he said, and went into the kitchen. Francie and Josie were waiting, letting out cranky meows and circling his ankles. He got out the cat food and filled their bowls, leaning down to pet them as they ate. Francie tried to purr as he ate, as always, and Josie ignored Billy completely, as always.

He straightened and caught Dom watching him. “They’re cute,” Dom said. “How long have you had them?”

“Two years, or—no, three,” Billy said, hoping Dom wouldn’t ask anything more about them. “They’re spoiled rotten, but they keep me company.”

“I have a snake,” Dom said.

Billy smirked, leaning back against the worktop. “Do you, now,” he said, and Dom went red and laughed.

“No, honestly!” he said, crossing the kitchen to Billy. “A real one, in my flat—a royal python.”

Billy reached for his collar, tugged him closer. “Tell me more,” he murmured, unzipping Dom’s jacket. There was a pink mark on his neck, from Billy’s mouth, and he wanted quite badly to fit his mouth just there again, suck and bite and feel Dom’s pulse against his tongue, concentrate on the way his breathing seemed to stutter a little.

“She’s gorgeous,” Dom said, and he let Billy slide his hands inside the coat, fingers settling onto his waist. “She’s only two.”

“Hm,” Billy said, not listening, not caring, and he pulled Dom in for another kiss: slick, heated, slow. Dom smelled of the cold air outside, faint scent of soap or aftershave from many hours ago, clean and uncomplicated desire. “Ready for that tour?” Billy said, pulling back a little, and watched as Dom’s eyes blinked open slowly.

“Yes,” Dom said, and Billy took his hand.

“This is the kitchen.” Dom nodded, smiling, let Billy lead him into the lounge. “Here’s the lounge.” He stopped and took off his coat, took Dom’s as well, and lay them over the back of the sofa. “Corridor,” he said in gameshow-host voice. “Toilet.” He pushed open the door and Dom peeked in; it was tiny, smaller even than Dom’s own. “Linen cupboard, also home to the water heater,” he said as he tapped on a louvered door. “Bedroom.” He pushed that door open and stood beside Dom with his hands on his hips, looking in at it—it was clean-ish, boxes stacked against the wall beside his guitar case, and the bed unmade but reasonably tidy. “Maid service is terrible here,” he added, then yelped as Dom shoved him in. “Pushy,” he said, but then Dom was against him again.

Their kisses were hotter now, definitely urgent; Dom’s hands were running down his arms, over his back and waist, and Billy made a soft sound of desire, slid his own hands around to cup Dom’s arse. “Christ,” he said into Dom’s mouth, squeezing, “you feel good.”

“What’re we doing?” Dom murmured, kissing Billy’s chin, his neck, pushing him further into the dim room. “Can I stay?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Billy said, trying to catch his breath as Dom’s mouth moved against his skin. He fell back another step and felt the bed nudge the backs of his knees. “Seeing as you’re here.”

~*~

Billy’s mouth was tight against his, his hands were squeezing Dom’s arse and Dom had been hard since the tapas bar, he felt like, he wanted to undress Billy and lick every part of him, rub against every part of him. “Do you—are you—what do you want to do?” Dom asked, sliding his hands under Billy’s t-shirt, onto the smooth skin of his back, his sides.

“I’m flexible,” Billy said, and they both laughed at the same time; Billy kissed Dom’s smile, though, and slid one hand down over the front of his trousers. Dom inhaled and shoved into his grip. “Seriously,” Billy said, rubbing his palm over Dom’s cock, trapped in his jeans. “I’d love to fuck you, but I’m flexible. You could do me, if you wanted, or—anything, really.”

“Oh god,” Dom said, groaning a little, “you should definitely fuck me.”

Billy kissed him, sweet and hard, and squeezed. “Yes, please.”

They undressed quickly; Billy snapped on a small bedside lamp and they toppled onto the mattress together, naked. Dom was glad of the light, he wanted to see Billy. He was surprisingly sturdy—he looked so slight in his clothes, usually, but his shoulders and biceps were thick with muscle, thighs sturdy and strong. He had fair, gingery hair across his chest, trailing down his belly to frame his cock, already stiff, and Dom wanted to suck Billy but wanted, more, to be fucked by him. So he wrapped his hand around Billy’s cock—it was thick, heavy in his hand—and pulled slowly, tightly, kissing Billy hard, leaning over him and rubbing his own aching prick against Billy’s hip.

Billy sank his hands into Dom’s hair and kissed him back urgently, thrusting into Dom’s fist and groaning a little. “Stop, stop,” he said after a few minutes, “I’ve been hard for an hour, you’ll get me off too soon.”

Dom laughed into his mouth, opened his eyes to look at Billy. “That sounds terrible,” he said. “Can’t have that.” He looked around. “Where do you keep the accoutrements?”

“Oooh, lookit you with the fancy vocabulary,” Billy said. He rolled over and rummaged through the nightstand; Dom eyed his arse appreciatively and tugged at his own cock.

“Lube first, then condoms,” Billy said, dropping both onto the bed. “Let me?”

“Let you what?” Dom said, stretching out on his side and facing Billy, “Put those gorgeous fingers up my arse?” He rested his head on his arm and fluttered his lashes at Billy. “Try and get out of it.”

Billy laughed, and leaned down to kiss Dom again before sitting up. “Like this part,” he said. As Dom let himself be maneuvered onto his back, he watched Billy’s face and thought maybe he meant it. The Scot sat cross-legged beside Dom and leaned down to suck lightly at the head of his cock; Dom shivered, legs falling open as Billy’s wet fingers smoothed over his balls, pressed gently behind them, finally petting his arsehole and then—carefully, almost tentatively—pressing one finger inward.

“I won’t break,” Dom said lightly, and Billy smiled and kissed the head of his cock.

“I know. I can go faster if you want, but,” he turned his head, smiled up Dom’s body at him, “I really do like this part.”

“It feels good,” Dom said, because part of him just wanted Billy to fuck him already, slide on the condom and roll Dom over and do him fast and hard and good; but there was no denying that this was good, too: Billy’s finger, then fingers, sliding in and out, his tongue lapping over Dom’s cock, slipping down to suck softly at his balls and then back up. Billy seemed to be in no hurry. By the time he got to three fingers, Dom was restless, hips shifting up and down. “Come on,” he begged, “fuck, Billy—come on.”

Billy licked his way up Dom’s cock; thrust the three fingers in deeper. “You ready?”

“God—yes. Hurry up,” Dom said, “do it. Fuck me.”

Billy slid his fingers out—Dom made an embarrassing, needy noise and rolled over onto his belly, hiding his red face. He felt the bed move, heard the tearing-paper sound of the condom being opened. A moment later, the mattress bounced as Billy moved behind him. Dom was already gathering himself when Billy’s fingertips pulled at his hips; he came onto his hands and knees and felt the blunt head of Billy’s cock against his skin. “I’m going to go slow,” Billy said; his voice was tighter, quieter, and his breath stuttered a little as he pushed in slowly.

Dom breathed through the slick, sticky burn of that first breaching and then shoved himself abruptly back.

Billy cried out, fingers digging into Dom’s hips as he slid deeper. “Fuck, Dom!”

“Yes,” Dom groaned, and began rocking himself back and forth, fucking himself on Billy’s cock.

“Oh, Christ,” he heard Billy breathe and then he began to move, gripping Dom’s hips hard and thrusting steadily.

Dom felt like his bones were melting; he gave himself over to it completely, breathing in deep gasps and moaning loudly as Billy fucked him so hard the bed shook.

Billy slowed abruptly, sat back a bit and began sliding in and out slowly, running his hands over Dom’s back and arse, his thighs, then back up. Dom sagged forward onto his elbows, set his knees a little further apart; let himself dissolve into nothing but the perfect feeling of being fucked, split, broken, taken. He offered himself up. Somewhere far away he heard the sounds of his own groans, heard Billy say, “Gorgeous.” Billy leaned down and kissed his nape, then his shoulder, draping himself over Dom. He ran his hands inward from Dom’s hips, framing his cock with both hands for an instant, then only the right; his left hand gripped Dom’s hip as Billy lay over his back and worked Dom’s cock with quick, tight pulls.

“Want you to come for me,” Billy was murmuring; his hips were still fucking into Dom, but quickly again, tight little thrusts that sent splinters of pleasure rocketing through Dom. “I want to feel you come, Dom,” Billy said. His hand was merciless, moving furiously over Dom’s rigid cock.

Dom’s world narrowed to Billy’s hand, wrapped around his cock, and Billy’s cock, shoving into him again and again. Billy groaned, said, “Fuck Dom, I wanna feel you come, and I’m so close, fuck, you feel so good—” He gasped, shoved in deeper again.

That last shove—Billy’s cock was so thick, so tight inside him—tipped Dom over the edge. He felt his orgasm spark, balls tighten and everything shudder as the pleasure rushed over him, out him. He heard his voice, a harsh, soft cry, as he shivered and the pulses of pleasure shocked him again and again. Billy was still working his cock, slower now, his own moan rising as Dom’s sank. “Oh _god_ ,” Billy said, and Dom knew he was coming, could feel how his thrusts went wild and uncontrolled, the way his body went tight and hard.

Dom shivered as Billy gasped, still moving, still moving, until at last he lay over Dom like a blanket, panting for breath. His hands ran over Dom’s skin, gentling him, and after a moment or three he sat up, sliding back out of Dom’s body with a slight noise of regret.

“Okay there?” Billy asked, and Dom let himself topple sideways, roll over into a sprawl to blink at the ceiling.

“I’m okay, but not sure I’m exactly here,” Dom said; he slid his eyes sideways to look at Billy, who was sitting beside him, peeling off the condom and looking unfairly delicious: flushed and sweaty and tousled and shagged out.

Billy grinned, tossing the condom into a bin under the nightstand. “That sounds promising,” he said. He ran his hand over Dom’s chest and belly. “Thanks for that.”

Dom closed his eyes, smiling. “I’m sure you’ve got that wrong,” he said. “Pretty sure I should be thanking you.”

“Oh, feel free,” Billy said, sinking down to lie beside him. “Staying over?”

“If that’s okay?” Dom said, but suddenly his trousers—abandoned on the floor near the door—were making noise. “Shite, let me grab that,” he said, and staggered off the bed and across the room. “Christ, you took away my ability to walk,” he said over his shoulder to Billy, grinning as he dug his mobile out of a pocket. “My flatmate,” he said to Billy, and then, “What, you wanker, what do you want?”

“You were supposed to be home three hours ago, asshole, I’m still at work and Orlando’s been stuck in the corner coffee shop waiting for you.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dom swore, “I totally forgot—why didn’t you call earlier? Why didn’t Orli call?” He fumbled for his shirt, shot an agonised _fuck my life_ look at Billy and listened to Elijah’s tale of woe: Orlando’s phone was dead, he’d left the charger on the train, he’d got a friendly stranger to loan him a phone, and remembered Elijah’s number but not Dom’s, had been trying to call Lij for two hours and Elijah’d finally got his texts when he went on break. As he listened Dom struggled his way into his clothes, hopping on one foot and then the other to get into his trainers, phone clamped to his ear as he apologized. “I’m headed home now, I’ll take an Uber, tell Orli to hang tight, I’ll meet him at the coffee shop in—I don’t know. Thirty minutes? Forty-five minutes?”

Elijah squawked some more but Dom hung up, tossing the mobile aside to pull his shirt over his head.

“So you won’t be staying the night,” Billy said, smiling a little. He was sitting up on the bed, still nude, still— _god_ —looking unfairly delicious.

“No, our other flatmate was getting back from holiday today and I was supposed to be home to let him in, and I totally forgot.”

“He doesn’t have a key?”

Dom came to the bed, grabbed Billy’s head and leaned down to kiss him hard. “No, he’s an idiot,” Dom said, pulling back with a little laugh, looking into Billy’s eyes. “We started making him leave his keys home when he goes out of town because he always loses them.”

“One of those, hmm?” Billy said, lips still curved up.

“Completely,” Dom agreed ruefully. “I’d so much rather stay.”

“It’s all right,” Billy said. “Order your Uber, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Sorry,” Dom said, sighing as he picked up his mobile again.

Five minutes later he was out the door, escorted to it by Billy and one of the cats—the orange one, whichever that was—and climbing into a car with a stranger. He texted Elijah his estimated arrival at the flat, and craned his head around just in time to see Billy’s door close.

“Christ,” he sighed, and slid lower in the seat, thinking of the quick, warm kiss just before the door had opened, the way Billy’s eyes had fluttered closed, his hand on Dom’s neck. At least he’d see Billy again Monday.


	3. CHAPTER THREE

Billy woke up to a medium-sized headache, a mouth which was somehow both sticky and dry at the same time, and his mobile shrilling in his ear. He flailed for it and dragged it to his face, burrowing further under the duvet.

“'Lo.”

“It’s me,” said his sister, “did I wake you? Lazy sod,” and Billy’s headache doubled.

“The one time I sleep in,” he mumbled, and smacked his lips. “A’right?”

“Yes, just calling to check on my baby brother,” she chirped. “How’s life in the big city?”

“You live in Glasgow,” Billy said, eyes firmly closed. He rubbed one hand over his face. “It’s just the same here as there.”

“Doing anything fun this weekend?” Margaret asked.

Billy’s eyes opened abruptly. _Dom._ He’d done something fun with Dom, all right. _Fuck_. “No,” he said, more sharply than he’d meant to. He tried to walk it back. “No, ‘course not, just shopping, watching telly. The usual.”

“Already did something fun, did you?” she asked archly, and Billy contemplated throwing the mobile at the wall. Hard.

Too much effort. “No, just went out for a glass of wine with a mate,” Billy said. “Or three.”

“Three mates or three glasses of wine?”

“Fuck off, Margo,” he said automatically.

“Oho,” she said. “Was it the cute one? With the nail varnish?”

He groaned. _Fuck_. “Yes.”

“Billy.” He waited for the hammer to fall, and yep: “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Is he still there?”

“No, he had to go home after.”

“Bastard.”

“No, no,” Billy said, trying to be fair, “he got a call, his flatmate was locked out. He was going to stay.”

“Hmm,” Margaret said. There was a pause; Billy counted how many times his head throbbed in the quiet. “I thought you didn’t date at the office?”

Four times. He rubbed his temple. “You know I don’t.” Another pause; he could hear her waiting. “I think I screwed up.”

“What’re you going to do?” At least she sounded sympathetic.

“Christ if I know,” Billy sighed. “He’s lovely.”

“Reeeeeeeeeeeally.” Now she sounded much more interested.

Billy gave up. “Yes, _really_ , but fuck, Margo, you know I’m not ready for—well—not since. You know.”

“David, yes, I know,” Margaret said. “It’s been nearly a year, though, love. Maybe—” she hesitated. “Maybe you are ready.”

A cat was suddenly walking across his belly, atop the duvet, and he grunted. “Even if I was, I still have to work with him.”

“Well,” she said, and her voice was suddenly brisk, “sounds like you’re fucked.”

Billy snorted—only partially because the cat was now gently clawing his hair, the only part of him exposed to air—and agreed. “No doubt about it.” He was pretty sure it was Francie; Josie rarely deigned to seek him out.

“Listen, I’ve got to go,” Margaret said, “I just saw the time and I’ve got to get to the shops this morning.”

“Right.” Billy reached his free hand up to bat Francie away from his head. “I’ll talk to you again next week.”

“Sooner if anything exciting happens with the cute receptionist.” He could hear her smirk.

“Did I mention fuck off?”

“Love you, too, dear heart.” She laughed and rang off, and Billy let the phone slide down the pillow and contemplated throwing himself at the wall. Hard.

Too much effort. Maybe after coffee and a shower.

~*~

Dom woke to a hyperactive American bouncing on his duvet: “Rise and shine,” Elijah was shouting, and Dom erupted from the bedding with a shriek.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, shoving Elijah hard.

“Oof!” Elijah tumbled onto the carpet but popped up again immediately, grinning immoderately and pointing at Dom. “You’ve got a hickey!”

It was too much effort to stay angry at him. “Yes, wanker, shall I explain how these things happen?” he said, and pulled the covers round himself again, huddling and glaring at Elijah just a bit.

“Oh, I know how they happen,” Elijah assured him. “I’m a doctor. I have degrees in that kind of thing.” He hopped up to sit on the bureau, banging his heels against the drawers.

“You’re barely a doctor,” Dom said, feeling out of sorts. He needed water, and aspirins, and then maybe some alone time to relive highlights from last night—his body ached in the most pleasant way, but not so his head. “If you were any kind of professional you’d know I need drugs right this minute.”

“There’s tea,” Elijah offered.

“Is he up?” Orlando’s voice, and then there he was, the plonker, London drawl and ridiculous hair foremost. “We want details!” He came in and draped himself over the foot of the bed.

“ _Do_ you?” Dom asked dangerously, squinting at them both.

“No!” Elijah cried, clapping his hands over his ears. “I’m a delicate flower!”

“Yes!” Orlando said. “Make Elijah cry!”

Dom sighed. “I will later,” he promised. “But tea first.”

“Who was it, though?” Orlando asked. “Was it the barista by your office?”

“No, Oliver remains frustratingly able to resist my many charms,” Dom said. “It was Billy, the IT chap from Weta.”

“The one with the bum?” Orlando asked.

“Yes,” Dom said, and let himself fall back on the bed, “and oh my god, it’s even better naked.”

“My ears!” Elijah said, but no one believed him.

“So it was decent,” Orlando said from near his feet, and Dom blinked up at the ceiling.

He’d put glow-in-the-dark stars up there, and they always looked naff during the day: little yellow plasticky things. “It was—” He tried to come up with the right word, struggled for a moment, gave up. “It was definitely better than decent.”

“Wow,” Elijah said, just as Orlando said, “Huh.”

“Go away,” Dom said. “I need to have a slash and brush my teeth and drink a cuppa.” He liked the stars on his ceiling, even if they did look tatty in the daytime. “Then I’ll tell you more than you ever wanted to know.”

“Not me, you won’t,” Orlando said.

“That’s just because you want to know everything,” Elijah said. Dom turned his head and watched as Elijah slid off the dresser and pulled at Orlando’s arm. “You’re so fucking nosy.”

“At least I own it,” Orlando said, and let himself be sat up and pulled to his feet. “I’m not even gay. I ask for details because you won’t and I know you’re desperate for them. I’m selfless that way.”

“A true hero,” Dom said loudly. “Get out of my room, arseholes.”

They left, and Dom lay where he was for a minute. He could hear them bickering in the kitchen, and he stretched—full-length, a good, spine-cracking stretch—and then curled up again for a moment. He closed his eyes and smiled, thinking of Billy’s mouth, his hands, the lovely weight of his body, the way he’d smiled and how sweetly he’d kissed Dom goodbye at the door.

Yes, Dom needed the loo, and tea and aspirins, and then some time to gloat privately and relive last night’s highlights. “Definitely better than decent,” he said to himself, and rolled out of bed.

…

Monday did not begin auspiciously. He’d texted Billy Saturday around noon— _Had a great time sorry I had to bunk off_ —and received a text in return— _It was fun no worries see you Mon_. He’d wanted to ask if Billy was free Sunday, but the text hadn’t been encouraging on that front, so by the time Monday morning rolled around Dom was antsy and over-energetic. 

He ignored Oliver the Cute Barista in favor of twitting Miranda, in line just in front of him, about her weekend; this went as well as expected and when he got to his desk he had to go to the loo and dab a spot of coffee from his jeans. Pete came in and saw him and gave him a three-minute bollocking over his “overly casual clothing, you never know who’ll come through the doors, Mr. Monaghan, and it’s vital that you dress professionally,” and so he missed Billy coming in. When he got to his desk the phones were ringing in an unprecedented rush, and the morning slid by before he realized it. 

He sent Billy an instant message over his computer at 11 a.m.: **Lunch at noon?**

Billy’s reply wasn’t promising: **Slammed so far, sorry not sure**

Dom answered another call and then sulked at his desk; he couldn’t even get away, the phones had slowed but the calls were still rolling in too quickly, and he was reasonably sure that if he asked Miranda to watch them she would decapitate him. He ignored the rucksack sitting uselessly at his feet and began paging through the latest office-supply catalogue between calls, looking for a wireless headset.

At 12:30 he forwarded the phones to Brett the intern (the usual lunchtime routine) and trotted back to the server room. Maybe Billy could grab a bite after all, or Dom could offer to bring him something from the kebab place, or they could sneak into the toilet and—no, no, Dom wasn’t that desperate (quite), and besides, he was pretty sure Billy wouldn’t go for it.

Billy was there, looking harried, his hair mussed as he tapped at one of the two keyboards on his desk; his music, usually playing loudly through the computer speakers, was a low murmur instead. He looked up when Dom came in, though, and smiled at him. “Hey, hold on,” he said. He focused on his screen again; a flurry of clattering keys and he gave a final-sounding tap to something and looked up. “Hi.”

Dom threw himself into the rickety chair across from him. “Hi. Time for lunch yet?”

Billy fidgeted, rolling his own chair sideways so he could see Dom better. “It’s a little crazy, today,” he said. 

“You have to eat, though,” Dom said. “Right?” He planted his feet wide, swiveled the chair from side to side. “I could bring you something. Kebab? Sarnie?”

“Ehm.” Billy pushed one hand through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck. “I brought something from home, just have to get it out of the fridge in the break room.”

“Oh,” Dom said. He looked down, glanced up at Billy through his lashes. “Had a good time, Friday. That was fun.” He smiled, feeling weirdly tentative. Something was off, and he wasn’t sure if it was him, or Billy.

“It was.” Billy didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Listen, Dom—” He stopped.

 _Oh, shite_. “Listening,” Dom said lightly. He stopped swiveling, tried to look attentive even though his stomach was twisting itself into a knot. 

Having got this far, though, Billy seemed to have stalled. He picked up two paper clips and began threading them together. “It was fun,” he repeated, and Dom forced himself to wait without saying anything. “I don’t usually—” he paused, and finally looked up, met Dom’s gaze. “I don’t usually date people I work with.” His expression was rueful, a little sheepish.

“And yet,” Dom said, the knot in his belly tightening.

“And yet,” Billy said, and sighed; he looked down at the paper clips. “Could we chalk it up to three _very_ large glasses of wine?” He looked back at Dom, one corner of his mouth trying to smile, hesitation writ across his features.

“We could,” Dom said, because he couldn’t think of what else to say. Part of him was pissed off—he liked Billy, a lot, and the sex had been fantastic, and they hadn’t been _that_ trousered, and it had been Billy who took him home, not the other way round. “I guess,” he added. And then again, he really did like Billy, and if it was just a one-off thing, he supposed he’d rather know that, and not drag it out. But it still sucked, and it still hurt.

All this went racing through his brain in a few seconds; he spun around in the chair, once, slowly, and came to rest facing Billy again. “So do you want to get lunch?” he asked, and tried to look cheerful—he wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to receive.

Billy looked hesitant. “I really did bring something,” he said. “But if you want to grab something, we could eat in the break room together?”

“Sounds good,” Dom said, and he stood. “You’re ungrateful,” he added, and pointed a finger gun at Billy.

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Billy said. “It _was_ fun,” he added.

Dom dropped his hand and began walking toward the door, backward, still looking at Billy. “It’s always fun with me,” he said, trying on a smirk. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Billy said, smiling again. He dropped his gaze, and Dom saw his cheeks and ears go pink. “We’ll always have tapas.”

“And red wine,” Dom said, and he turned and left, feeling relieved, amused, hurt, irritated, glad, disappointed—all those things tangled up in that knot in his stomach. The one thing he wasn’t was hungry, and as he fetched his coat and then stepped into the elevator, he sighed gustily. 

“Well, fuck,” he said to himself; the doors slid shut and Dom leaned his head against the shiny metal wall and closed his eyes. Damn Billy Boyd, anyway.

~*~

It had been easier than he’d thought, speaking to Dom. Billy felt bad—he’d seen the flash of hurt frustration on Dom’s mobile features before he’d covered it, gone blank and then back to his insouciant self, spun slowly in that chair. He’d let Billy off too easily, and Billy knew it and felt like an arse, but he was glad, too. Well, almost glad. Dom really was lovely, but Billy just couldn’t face another balls-up like the one with David. He sighed to himself a bit; tried to shake it off and reminded himself that he and Dom could still be—would still be—good friends. It would have to be enough.

Things cooled between them for a while; lunch that day had been awkward for a while, smoothing into something close to their usual banter, but Dom was guarded, and Billy, too. They’d parted with mutual smiles and mutual relief, Billy suspected.

The weeks trickled by; the new systems took some time to shake down, and Billy was kept busy explaining the ins and outs to all the employees. They took to it differently—some, like Pete and John and Cate, were slow to adapt, and Billy was in their offices again and again, patiently explaining first the basics, then the more in-depth possibilities. Others picked it up quickly, or just found the online tutorials and worked things out themselves. 

Dom, Miranda, Brett, Liv (an accounts manager), and Ian (the office manager) were the leaders of that camp, which meant Billy saw them less. 

(He still didn’t know why Miranda hated Dom; she was perfectly pleasant, if brisk, with him, and he hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask her.)

He felt settled into the job; Pete and Fran, the two owners, were a good team, and he was both supported and left alone—two prime ingredients in job satisfaction, as far as he was concerned. He liked his co-workers, and after a couple of weeks he started running into Dom at lunch in the break room again, which made the days better.

His evenings were lonely. He’d been fine on his own for nearly a year, and he still was, but apparently sleeping with Dom had reawakened some part of him that wanted—stupidly, idiotically—to be paired up, or at least having sex regularly. Occasionally when they were talking, he’d get a flash of their night together—Dom’s heartfelt groans, the way he’d given himself over so completely to Billy, the lean lines of his body beneath Billy’s mouth, his hands—and Billy would flush with heat, the hair on the back of his neck prickling with sweat. He’d lose his train of thought and have to cover; he wondered if Dom thought he was simple-minded, or at least chronically absent-minded.

Worse than that, almost, were the moments Dom made him laugh—and there were many of them—or the times when Dom stole a look at him, eyes glinting through his tangled hair, a grin curling his mouth up on one side. Or the way Billy just _knew_ how to settle Dom when he was jittery, how to jolly him on the rare days when he was discouraged or irritable, what to say to get a snappy comeback and then an eyeroll, a smile. They didn’t really even know each other all that well—and yet, and yet.

By the middle of autumn things were calm; Billy’s days settled into maintenance, running reports for the managers, occasional rushing-to-the-rescue (technology-wise), and trying to get Pete to agree to down-time so Billy could run updates. That last seemed to be a lost cause, and Billy finally decided he’d stay late and run all the updates while no one else was in the office.

On a cold, clear evening in October he left at six as usual; grabbed a bite to eat and then went back to the office. The building was eerie at night, mostly empty except for the janitorial staff moving slowly through; Billy used the back stairs instead of coming in the front, and he slid into his office just before seven. It didn’t take long to set the updates running, and then it was just a matter of putting his feet up and being around to make sure nothing needed his attention. He kicked off his trainers and pulled a book from his desk drawer.

At nine he put down the book and got up and stretched in place, wishing he’d brought his yoga mat with him. He glanced at the screens—everything running smoothly—and sighed. Not the most exciting evening, but it wasn’t as though he’d anything else waiting. Even the cats would barely miss him; he missed them more than the other way around, he was certain. He decided to walk around the office to get his blood moving.

There was a light glowing at the end of the main hallway, near the front door; Billy padded toward it, curious. The offices to either side were dark, a little light leaking in from outside; the glow at the front, it turned out, was a desk lamp at Dom’s workspace.

And there was Dom, head pillowed on his folded arms, arms resting across an open textbook, it looked like, papers and pens scattered beside him, his computer screen glaring bright above him.

Billy froze, wondering what to do. Should he wake Dom? Sneak away and leave him be? Why was Dom even here? Billy craned his neck to look at the computer; it looked like an online classroom, the same basic set-up as his own education had been, although—he stealthily peeked at what he could see of the book underneath Dom—the book looked like a science text of some kind, not programming as Billy had done.

He shifted from foot to foot for a moment, and finally turned and went quietly back to his lair. Surely if Dom wanted him to know he was—what? Using the office computers for classwork?—he would have said something. Billy couldn’t imagine that Pete or Fran or even Ian, stickler that he was, would object to Dom getting an education. They’d probably support it, if they knew. Maybe they did know, and it was only Billy who was in the dark.

Back in his office, Billy found the book couldn’t hold his attention; he was listening too hard for some sound, some sign that Dom was awake down the corridor. 

The computers and servers all around hummed, but Billy never heard anything else. By 10:30, when the updates had run and Billy had his trainers back on, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, Dom was gone. The front of the office was as dark and quiet as the rest of the space, and Billy was no closer to knowing when Dom had come—and gone—than he had been.


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

Dom pulled his backpack out from under his feet and snapped on the goose-neck lamp beside his keyboard. The term was more than half over, but he’d slacked off for a while in the middle and he was still making up for lost time. He’d three assignments to submit and a quiz to take, and then there was another interminable video to sit through.

An hour later he stood up and headed to the break room. He liked the office at night, it was quiet and dark, all his for the most part. He didn’t turn on the light in the break room—there was a faint but helpful glow from the London skyline outside: street lights and office buildings, cranes above and headlights far below. He made himself a cup of coffee and stood at the windows, looking down at the cars and buses in the street.

He left with his coffee mug in hand, glancing out of habit down the hall toward the server room—Billy’s lair, as he called it. There was a light on in the room, and Dom paused where he was. The janitors had already gone; they must have left something on. He turned away from his own desk and toward the server room. 

The janitors hadn’t left a light on; Billy had, and he was sitting there wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and reading, his sock-clad feet propped on the desk.

“Bill?” Dom said, blankly.

Billy gave a galvanic jerk and nearly toppled over backward in the office chair. “Jaysus fucking Christ!” he said, dropping his book and wrenching himself upright, feet crashing to the floor.

Dom bent over laughing, coffee sloshing gently over his hand. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, “that was amazing!” 

Billy put his hands over his face—it was turning red—and began laughing as well. “You scared the piss outtae me,” he said, and dropped his hands, chuckling weakly. “I think y’took a year off my life.”

“What’re you doing here?” Dom asked, straightening and setting his mug down on a handy shelf. He shook the coffee off his hand and eyed Billy.

“Running updates,” Billy said. “And you?”

“Oh, erm—” Dom fidgeted. “I guess I better come clean, huh?” He leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m taking online classes, and I—well, I use the computer here.”

Billy didn’t look wildly surprised. “I wondered.” He pulled off his glasses, tossed them onto the desktop.

Dom raised an eyebrow. 

“I came in last week after hours and when I went for a stroll I saw you all set up for studying.” Billy smiled at him.

“You—what?” Dom squinted at him. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You were sleeping,” Billy said. “Like a baby.” He grinned.

Dom slumped lower. “Well, that explains it,” he said. “Some of those videos—” He shook his head expressively. 

“Why don’t you do the classwork at home?” Billy asked, tipping his head sideways slightly. 

Dom made a face. “Sometimes I do, but—I live with two flatmates, and I love ‘em, but they’re, well, they’re not very quiet. Elijah’s a medical resident, so he’s not there much, but Orlando’s career is going to parties and on holiday and just occasionally working at a shop somewhere for a while, and he’s always trying to drag me out with him. It’s just—it’s hard.” He shrugged. “I used to go out with him all the time, but I’m trying to finish up some coursework, and it’s easier here.”

Billy looked down. “I can see that,” he said. He glanced at his screens—they lit up his face, and Dom studied his features for a moment. He flashed suddenly to how Billy had looked when Dom first kissed him, all those weeks ago—backed against the brick wall in the dark, the only light the glare of a streetlight from the nearby parking lot. Billy’s nose and ears had been pink with cold, his lips curving into a smile as he lifted his face from his collar; his eyes had closed as he’d let Dom kiss him, and Dom remembered the way Billy’s hands had slid into his hair, and how they’d pressed together in the chilly air, warming one another.

“Um,” Dom said. “I better—” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I just was getting coffee when I saw your light.” He grabbed his coffee cup.

“Right,” Billy said. “Of course. I’ll be here for a while longer.”

Dom hesitated. “I haven’t—nobody knows I stay after, and use the computers,” he blurted.

Billy’s face… softened, somehow. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “But I don’t think they’d mind,” he added. “It’s not like you’re making pornographic films here after hours.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you?”

“Nah,” Dom said, “studied some dirty subjects, but not that kind of dirty subject,” he promised, grinning a little.

“Ah. Shame.” Billy picked up his glasses and fiddled with them. “Well, like I said—your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks, mate,” Dom said; he tossed a little wave over his shoulder and turned to go.

Back at his desk, the computer had gone to screensaver, and Dom looked blankly at the spinning Weta logo for a moment. The building suddenly felt less empty, even though Billy was all the way at the back of the office and Dom was all the way at the front. It was kind of nice, he thought, settling back to his book and typing in his password. A little like having company—a little less lonely.

~*~

The Tuesday night updates became part of Billy’s routine. He asked for—and received—permission to take half-days on Wednesdays, so every Tuesday night he came into the office, stopped to say “hi” to Dom, and ran updates and usage reports. Sometimes Dom showed up in the server room for a while, stretching his legs, he said; sometimes Billy padded down the corridor in his socks to say hello, or let Dom know the internet would be down for a bit. He tried to set those updates to run at the end of the night, though, so Dom could get his classwork done first.

He noticed that Dom didn’t always have food, so he began bringing extra, and he’d wander down to Dom early in the evening. “Look at the size of this order of curry,” he’d say, and push the container across the counter to Dom. “Help me finish, would you?” Dom ate the way he did everything, with enthusiasm, and there were never any leftovers.

“What’re you studying?” he asked, watching Dom take a quiz while absently shoveling tikka masala into his mouth.

“This class is Science and Society,” Dom said. “Hold on.” He closed his eyes and turned his face to the ceiling for a second—trying to remember something, Billy thought. After a second he looked back down, typed something in, and clicked onward. “Done with that one,” he said.

“Are you going for a cert?” Billy asked, draped over the counter, chin on his folded hands.

“It’s a program in environmental science,” Dom said. “Hopefully when I’m done I can go work for a nonprofit or something.”

“Save the world,” Billy said, nodding.

Dom shrugged and stretched: arms extended high, head twisting side to side as his neck cracked. Billy winced, and also noticed how Dom’s t-shirt rode up, the glimpse of flat belly and dark hair disappearing into his trousers, visible as he leaned back in the office chair. 

“I wouldn’t mind saving the world,” Dom said, slouching back to his usual posture, and Billy looked hastily away. “Or just doing something other than answering phones for the most boring company in London.” He grinned at Billy. “Thanks for the tikka.”

“They always give me too much,” Billy said. “Don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Very environmentally sound,” Dom said, smiling.

Billy straightened and waved his hand toward the back of the office. “I better go check everything,” he said. “Carry on.”

“Thanks, mate,” Dom said. “Let me know if you need to take the network down.” He was already pulling another book toward himself with a friendly look at Billy.

“Not tonight,” Billy said, and he slipped away, leaving Dom to his books, not at all thinking about Dom’s belly, his long muscular arms raised over his head, the way his neck lengthened when his head fell back and how well Billy remembered the taste of his skin just there, or the mark he’d left there many weeks ago, long since faded and gone.

~*~

The term was finally nearly done, and Dom was desperate for it to be over. Not just because he wanted to be finished—although he did, so much—but because he needed to go out one night, get himself trollied, and find someone nice to blow in an alley or something. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out, and it’d been more than two months since he and Billy had—well, collided, maybe. Perhaps that was the best word for it. Had their one-off encounter, anyhow, and Dom wouldn’t mind doing it again at all, but Billy didn’t ever give much indication that he thought about it, much less wanted to throw his no-dating-at-the-office rule out the window and take Dom savagely against the vending machines in the break room.

“Two more weeks in the term,” Dom told him while they sat at lunch in late November, and Billy nodded and finished his bite of salad, the (tragically) unsullied vending machines humming beside them and rain trailing down the windows across the room. 

“And how much longer do you have on the degree?” Billy asked, once he’d swallowed.

Dom shrugged, twisting his lips up for a moment. “Who knows?” he said. “I’m on the second module of three, so about halfway through.”

“That’s good then, innit?” Billy asked. 

“Oh, yeah,” Dom said expansively. “I’ll be done by 2035 at the rate I’m going.”

Billy looked surprised. “But you’re halfway done, you said.”

“Yes, but it takes at least six years if you go part-time, which I am,” Dom said. He made a face. “Sometimes I think I’ll chuck it and be a receptionist forever.” 

“It would be hard to replace you,” Billy said seriously. “I don’t know who they could find with such shit taste in nail varnish.”

Dom threw a salt packet at him and examined his nails. “I haven’t painted them in weeks,” he said mournfully. “Just look.” He displayed his hands for Billy, laying them flat on the table between them. It was true there was hardly any paint left on his nails—a few chipped remnants of the bright red he’d used more than a week ago and then worried and peeled away as he studied for his exams.

“My sister works in a beauty salon,” Billy said. “She could fix you right up.”

“You have a sister?” Dom said. “Would she give me a discount?” He grinned.

“Sure,” Billy said. “‘Course, she still lives in Glasgow, so what you save on the manicure might not make up for the train ticket, but.” He shrugged. “She’s quite good.”

Dom threw the pepper packet at him and sighed, propping his chin on his hands. “I’m resigned to no manicure until after the term ends, then.”

“Puir wee Dommie,” Billy said. “A martyr to his education.”

“That is entirely true,” Dom said. “My nails are naked,” he lowered his voice, “I haven’t pulled since you and I went out in September,” his volume returned to normal, “and my bank account is just recovered enough that it’s really going to hurt to pay the fees for my January term.” He smirked at Billy and wondered: would this be one of the times Billy stuttered and went red, or one of the times he lobbed back an answer that made Dom stutter and go red?

“You need to find a way to make getting pulled pay for school,” Billy said; he paused for a beat and added, “I’ll write you a lovely reference if it helps.” He smirked in his turn, and Dom choked on his water and then laughed, feeling his face go hot.

The latter, then.

~*~

Billy tossed his novel aside and rubbed his eyes. It was late, and he wondered how Dom was doing on his class work. 

They’d eaten together earlier, Dom keyed up and talking as fast as he ate, telling Billy about his final project for the class, some kind of presentation on climate engineering. Billy had stood at the counter, eating more slowly and nodding, and taken his unfinished plate back to the server room with him when Dom was done, so Dom could, as he said, “finish this cunting project once and for all.”

Billy rose and stretched a bit, bending at the waist and knees to get his blood moving. The building was eerily quiet—one of those foggy London nights that wrapped the everything in cotton wool and barely let in any outside light. 

Dom was asleep at his desk, slumped over and drooling gently onto a spiral notebook, head pillowed on one arm. Billy smirked a little and began to lean over and wake him, then thought better of it. If he’d finished his project, great, and if not, Billy knew—Dom had mentioned it ten or twenty times in the past week—it wasn’t due until Friday.

So instead of waking him, Billy silently walked around the counter and opened a drawer just to the left of Dom’s sleeping form. He felt around, careful to be quiet, and pulled out a bottle of nail varnish. 

It was the work of a few moments to paint Dom’s nails. His hands were limp, and although one or two fingers were hard to reach, curled as they were, Billy stealthily managed to paint them all. He couldn’t tell what the color was—in the warm light of the desk lamp it looked black, but it could be blue or purple—but he finished, capped the little bottle, and tiptoed away, trying not to giggle to himself.

...

“You know you have to do at least two coats if you want it to look good,” Dom said from the doorway, and Billy looked up.

“Well, it was a bit of a last-minute decision,” Billy said, sitting up from his slouch and grinning at him. “Didn’t have to time t’call my sister for tips.” He glanced at the screen before him and nodded to himself. Updates all done.

Dom held his hands out in front of himself, examining his nails. “It’s not terrible,” he said. “About time you helped me out with the right hand, anyway.”

Billy stood. “Did you get your presentation finished?”

“I did,” Dom said. “That was the last thing I had to do.” He threw his arms out. “I’m officially finished until January… something.”

Billy applauded lightly. “I’m headed home, shall we walk out together?”

“Sounds good.”

Billy waited while Dom got his coat, and they clattered down the back stairs together. The street outside was even quieter than usual, not that a Tuesday at 10 p.m. was all that lively in the business district, but the fog dampened what sound and light there was, so they stood in a dim patch of light beneath a streetlamp. 

“Come have a pint with me,” Dom said, leaning to bump Billy with his shoulder.

Billy smiled and looked away, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I shouldn’t,” he said. “S’already late.”

“Psh,” Dom said. “Last train isn’t for hours yet. And I just finished my class, got to have a drink to celebrate, don’t I?” He bumped Billy’s shoulder again. “Besides, I need advice on my office Secret Santa.”

“Where could we go?” Billy asked, resolve wavering. “Everything round here is closed already.”

“Nah, I live a mile from here,” Dom said. He started walking, and Billy sighed at himself and followed. “There’s at least three pubs on the way, and we’ve time for a drink before they close the bar.”

“Fine. At least I can come in late tomorrow.” He glanced sideways at Dom. “Don’t know what you’re planning to do.” 

Dom smiled back at him. “Half-arse my way through the day the same way I would even if we didn’t stop in for a pint?” he suggested.

“That sounds right,” Billy said.

~*~

They stopped at the second pub they saw, mostly because it was getting on for half-past ten, and Dom wanted to get a drink before the bar called time. It was half-full if that, and he and Billy sat at a deal table in a corner. Dom lifted his beer and waited for Billy, who obligingly held his up and clinked it to Dom’s.

“Sláinte,” Dom said, and Billy grinned and echoed him.

They drank, and Dom set his beer down and rubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he said.

“You’ve earned a rest,” Billy said. His fingers and palms curved around his glass, turning it slowly in place on the table.

Dom gazed at Billy’s hands, feeling exhaustion wash over him. It didn’t feel bad, it was just… there, the slow ebb of tension in his body, his mind. “You’d look good in nail varnish,” he said absently.

Billy gave a tiny snort, and Dom blinked and looked at his face. Billy’s lips were curving up at the corners—he had the wickedest, best smile sometimes, like a child stealing sweets. “I do,” was all he said, though, agreeing. “How d’you think Margo got started?”

Dom huffed a silent laugh. “It’s all coming clear to me now,” he said, and took a long swallow of beer. They sat quietly for a few minutes, both of them slumped comfortably at the table; Dom’s shoulders sank lower as he sipped again and felt the end-of-term adrenaline continue to drain away.

“Why don’t you—” Dom said, just as Billy said, “What are you—” and they both stopped, laughed.

“You first,” Dom said. He took another drink.

“S’nothing,” Billy said, “just going to ask what you’re doing for the holidays.”

Dom made a face. “Not sure yet,” he said. “I’ll head home for at least a day or two, but other than that, no idea.” He shrugged. “You? Headed back to Glasgow?”

“Not this year,” Billy said lightly. “Working and staying at home, that’s all.” He looked Dom. “What were you going to ask?”

Dom shook his head. “Not important.” He looked at Billy’s hands again, thought about Billy’s warm, intent voice in his ear, weeks ago, now, months ago: _want to feel you come, Dom_ , and the way his hands had gripped, moved, pulled Dom over the edge into pleasure. They weren’t new thoughts.

“Hm,” Billy said, now, and Dom wondered if Billy ever thought about that night.

Dom drank deeply. What the hell. “How come you don’t date at the office?” he asked.

Billy straightened a little, and his hands tightened on his glass. “Just seems like a bad idea,” was all he said.

Dom looked at him, waited till Billy’s gaze lifted and met his. “Could be fun,” he offered.

Billy was silent for a long moment; he lifted his glass and it was his turn to drink deeply. “Good stout,” he said, and then: “The last relationship I was in was with someone I worked with.”

Dom nodded. “Didn’t end well?” he said, after a pause.

“Well, I got the cats,” Billy said, making light of it. He rubbed the back of his neck. “He was my boss,” he said. “We dated for three years, lived together for the last year of it, and, ehm. ‘Didn’t end well’ is probably the understatement of the year.”

“Fuck, ‘m’sorry,” Dom said. He reached over and touched Billy’s hand, pulled back again. “That sucks.”

Billy shrugged. “It is what it is,” he said. He took another drink, finishing his pint. “I wasn’t arrested, so that’s good,” he added, smiling slightly, looking at his hands.

Dom snorted a laugh. “That’s the measuring stick I use for all my relationship endings.”

“It’s a scale, see,” Billy agreed, smiling, though he was still looking down, “from ‘used his toothbrush to clean the toilet’ to ‘got liftit for burning his clothes in the street.’”

“And stealing his cats,” Dom added.

Billy chuckled a little. “That’s why I had to move so far,” he said. He met Dom’s eye, though, and his shoulders had loosened again.

“I knew it,” Dom said. He drank the last of his beer, set the glass down. “Another?” he asked.

“Nay, we should head out,” Billy said. “You have to work in the morning.” He looked cheerfully smug.

Dom tossed him two fingers and stood, pulling his jacket from the chair; Billy followed suit, wrapping his scarf loosely about his neck. “Thanks for celebrating with me,” Dom said, and smiled at Billy.

“Piss-poor celebration,” Billy said, waving at their two beer glasses, “but then again, you’re a piss-poor student, so.” One shoulder lifted, dropped; he smirked.

“True,” Dom said.

Outside the pub, they huddled against the bricks and Dom looked up the nearest tube station, squinting down at his phone and pointing directions for Billy. “Three blocks up this way, it’ll be right there,” he said.

“Thanks,” Billy said. He tucked his nose down into his scarf. 

Dom grabbed him, wrapped him up in a hug. “Thanks for the beer,” he said into Billy’s hair. He felt Billy tense and then relax, lift his arms to return the embrace. 

“You earned it,” he said. 

Dom didn’t let go; ducked his head and nuzzled between Billy’s scarf and his neck. “You smell nice.”

Billy didn’t let go, either. “Soap,” he murmured. He turned his head a fraction; Dom felt his warm breath against his ear. “You should try it.”

Dom laughed a little against his skin, still hugging him. He couldn’t feel much of Billy’s body, other than the warm pressure of his arms around his sides and back—they were both far too bundled up—but Billy’s voice in his ear was as intimate as a touch. Dom’s exhaustion suddenly seemed much more theoretical than real, because he wanted to lick Billy’s neck, maybe bite him, tug at the Scot’s earlobe with his teeth, listen to see if he could make Billy’s breathing stutter and catch.

He hadn’t answered, or said _anything_ , and he was just wondering if he should, when Billy said gently, “So,” and began to loosen his embrace.

“Nope,” Dom said, tightening his arms, “everyone knows end-of-term hugs take time, done right,” and Billy was laughing at him, but he did squeeze Dom again, and even press a little kiss to his ear before dropping his arms and stepping back.

Dom ducked his head, feeling self-conscious. “Quitter,” he said.

Billy huffed, and when Dom finally looked at him, he was pink and smiling. “Go on with you,” he said. “Go home, ye bampot.”

“Fine,” Dom sniffed, “see if I tell you you smell nice again.” He tugged Billy’s scarf and then turned on his heel and headed toward home.

“G’night, Dom,” Billy called, and Dom waved one hand at him without turning around.

“Good night,” he called back, and knew Billy would hear his smile, just as he’d heard Billy’s.

His phone chimed a few minutes later; it was Billy. _You never asked me for advice on the office Secret Santa._

 _You’re right_ , Dom sent back, _and I def need help_.

_Who is it?_

_Miranda_ , Dom tapped in, and laughed when his phone’s screen lit up with five poop emojis.

 _I can’t get her that for xmas_ , Dom wrote.

 _Might need more beer to figure this one out_ , Billy replied after a moment. Then: _Going into the station. See you tomorrow._

Dom smiled and tucked his phone away, headed home with lighter steps.


	5. CHAPTER FIVE (...I think?)

“Do you think she wears perfume?” Dom asked, three days later. They were in the break room again, eating lunch.

Billy swallowed his bite. “I’ve never smelled any on her,” he said. “But then I don’t see her all that often—she’s good with computers, she doesn’t call me much.”

“You’ve got to be my spy,” Dom said. “She doesn’t hate you yet.”

“Why _does_ she hate you?” Billy asked. “What did you do?”

“That’s nice,” Dom said, his air one of offended innocence. “Some friend _you_ are.”

Billy snorted. “You didn’t answer the question.” He popped another chip into his mouth and cocked an eyebrow at Dom, waiting.

Dom grinned. “Nothing, really,” he said, and then—at Billy’s look of rampant skepticism—he laughed. “ _Really_. Except, when I got hired on, she’d been answering phones for a couple of weeks, while they looked for someone to fill the position. She hates it—well, you know she does,” Billy nodded, “and when I started, she had to teach me the system.” He shrugged. “She despised every minute of it, and I may have—well, I may have dragged it out longer than I needed, just to wind her up.”

Billy tossed a chip at him; Dom caught it and ate it, laughing. “You’re an arse,” Billy said.

Dom assented with another shrug. “I think I must remind her of her little brother or something,” he said. “I swear I never did anything terrible, other than that.” He poked at his noodles. “I do want to get her something nice, though.”

Billy rubbed his nose. “I’ll see if I can find anything out,” he promised.

…

Dom appeared in the doorway of the server room. “Wotcher, Bills.”

Billy finished shutting down the systems not needed over the weekend. “Hey, Dom.”

“Did you find anything out about Miranda?”

Billy picked up his messenger bag and started tucking things away for the train ride home. “No, I couldn’t think of a reason to go and bother her,” he said. 

Dom nodded and leaned against the door sill. “Any plans tonight?” he asked.

“Feed the cats, start my laundry. The usual festivities,” Billy replied. He pulled his jacket on and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come to dinner,” Dom said. “My flatmates are taking me out to celebrate the end of term and I thought you could come, too.”

Billy looked down, considered. “Just the four of us?” he asked. He wasn’t up for a big gathering, or for another one-on-one with Dom—Dom, who was far too tempting even in rumpled khakis and a henley, hair a mess from running his hands through it.

“Yep. You can leave your bag at the flat, stop by for it after,” Dom said.

“All right,” Billy said. He was curious to meet Orlando and Elijah, anyhow, after Dom’s stories. “Sounds good.”

They went the mile to Dom’s flat on foot; no rain at the moment, but the nighttime streets gleamed wet in the darkness, car tyres hissing by as they walked. Billy looked up at the dull industrial building and followed Dom inside. “It’s a decent place,” Dom was saying, “way better than I could afford on my own.” It was on the seventh floor, and they rode up in a crowded lift, quiet among the others—Dom nodded to a couple of people—and pressed close. Billy clutched his bag and wished for a quick cup of coffee to get his energy up a bit.

Down the hall and Dom unlocked the door to 8G and pulled Billy in. “Oi, Elijah, I’m home,” he called as they crossed the threshold.

“He’s in the shower,” someone replied—Orlando, Billy presumed. He could see only his chest through the gap between the kitchen cupboards and worktop, until a friendly face ducked down to look into the lounge. “You must be Billy.”

Billy nodded, feeling off-balance as Dom slipped the strap from his messenger bag off his shoulder and hung it on a hook behind the door.

“Yep, this is him,” Dom said, “saviour of all things electronic at Weta.” He tugged at Billy’s arm. “Take off your jacket, if Lij is in the shower it’ll be a few minutes.”

Billy let Dom take his coat and perched on the sofa Dom waved him to. “Want a beer?” asked Orlando, but he was already coming around the kitchen doorway, already handing Billy a bottle. “Glad you made it.”

“Thanks,” Billy said, looking up at Orlando: tall and lanky, all arms and legs with a shock of thick dark hair and a face that made Billy feel first, old, and second, homely.

Dom tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and went to the kitchen, saying, “I see how it is, you’ll get him a beer, but not me. I’m the one who finished his exams, but do you fetch me a drink? Nooooo.” 

Orlando threw himself into a ratty reclining chair. “Stop your whinging, Billy’s the guest.” He raised his bottle to Billy. “Cheers.”

“Your health,” Billy said, returning the gesture and drinking. He looked around. The shared space was smallish, but tidy; the only signs that three young men lived there were the messy stack of video games and movies teetering beside the television and the drink rings on the battered coffee table. “What do you do, Orlando?” he asked.

“He does nothing,” Dom said, leaning against the kitchen entry. 

Orlando flipped his beer cap at Dom. “I model, mostly, but sometimes I work in shops. Whatever pays the bills.”

“What’s modeling like?” Billy asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s really hard,” Orlando said seriously. “The hours are crazy. When I’m working, it’s twenty-hour days, people screaming at you all the time.”

“Wow, I had no idea.”

“Nah, I’m winding you up, it’s awesome,” Orlando said, and his face split in a dazzling grin. “Plus you get free clothes lots of times.”

Dom rolled his eyes. “Come see my snake,” he said to Billy.

Billy raised an eyebrow at Orlando. “Does he say that to all the men he brings home?”

Orlando choked on his beer, and Billy stood up, feeling rather pleased with himself. He left his beer behind and followed Dom down the hall. “Now you’ve done it,” Dom said, pushing open the first door they came to. “He’ll love you forever if you make him laugh.”

“Not sure I could handle that,” Billy said. “Too much pressure.”

Dom beckoned Billy in, flipping on the light. “That’s what I think, too, he only dates beautiful women. I’d hate to be on his arm—I want to be the hot one in my relationships.” He grinned when Billy punched his arm.

“Very hospitable,” Billy mock-complained. “Good thing we’d only the one-night stand, or else I’d feel hurt.”

“Oh, you know you’re gorgeous,” Dom scoffed. He was already looking at the terrarium on his dresser, though, and Billy couldn’t think what to say, so he kept quiet, looking around the room. It was small, crowded with the few pieces of furniture; the walls were pale blue, patterned curtains open to the night, the bed rumpled. 

Dom was lifting the lid off the glass case; he reached in to pick up a small but beautiful snake. “This is Bella,” he said, turning his body toward Billy as the snake curled slowly about his wrist and forearm.

“She’s beautiful,” Billy said, reaching out to run his finger down her glossy scales. “Will she get larger?”

“Yes, she’s been stalled out at about a foot and a half for a while now, I expect she’ll have a growth spurt sometime soon. They can get up to five feet.” Dom looked up at Billy through his lashes. “Would you like to hold her?”

Billy nodded. “Just tell me what to do so I don’t hurt her,” he said, pushing up his sleeves.

Dom reached down and clasped his hand, and then gently rearranged Bella so she would go from Dom’s arm to Billy’s. “Just be still, or move slowly. She’ll take care of the rest.” 

Bella’s movement felt bizarre—Billy could feel her muscles contract and expand as she wrapped herself around his bare forearm. He laughed a little, watching her narrow head, the way her small tongue flickered in and out.

“She’s smelling you,” Dom murmured, moving the last loop of her body to Billy’s hand. 

“Hope she likes cat,” Billy said. He held his arm still and let her curl around him further; she seemed content to be still after a moment, lifting her head and sampling the air.

“It doesn’t freak you out,” Dom said; it wasn’t a question.

Billy shook his head a little, glancing up at Dom, back down at the python. “No, she’s lovely,” he said. “Never been bothered by snakes.” He twitched as she squeezed and then moved again, just a little. “It does feel weird, though,” he admitted, and grinned.

“Takes some getting used to,” Dom said. “I’d better put her back, it’s too cold out here for long, without her heat lamp.” He curved his fingers under her slender body and lifted her away, taking his time so she could unwind and slip over and around his hands. He set her back into the terrarium and put the lid back on.

“Do you ever take her anywhere?” Billy asked, coming closer, bending to watch her slither into a wound-up ball under a dry-looking piece of wood.

“Sometimes in the summer, if it’s really warm—I’ve carried her about with me, here and there.” Dom went on as Billy straightened, “I always worry about dogs, though.”

“Aye, that makes sense,” he said. Dom stood close before him, looking at him quietly; smiling a little. “Ehm,” Billy said, and forced himself to look away. “I like the color of the walls.” He was blathering, but God, Dom was so close, and he wanted so much to touch him—reach out and run a thumb over Dom’s soft, crooked mouth, smooth his mussed hair.

“Look up,” Dom said, and Billy did; the ceiling was deep blue. Dom reached out and swung the door shut, blocking out the light from the hall, and flipped the light switch off. A scattering of tiny, glowing stars appeared against the ceiling.

Billy smiled, delighted. “Oooh, I like that,” he said, and then he stopped talking, because Dom had stepped even closer; one warm hand curved around the nape of his neck and Billy’s eyes fell closed as Dom kissed him: a light kiss to the line of his jaw, and then—as Billy’s face tipped down toward his—the corner of his mouth, then square on the lips. 

Dom’s mouth was gentle against his, and Billy was caught off guard, unresisting. He kissed Dom back, his whole body motionless and humming beneath Dom’s hand, his lips.

“Hey, Dom, what’re you—whoops!” A cut-off giggle and the door closed again. Billy was suddenly tense; he shied away, felt himself flush hotly as Dom’s hand slipped off his neck.

“Fucking Elijah,” Dom muttered; the overhead light came back on and Dom was blinking at him, looking rueful. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Billy asked. “Kissing me, or your roommate?” His voice was flatter than he’d meant it to be, and he shook his head sharply at himself. “Sorry.”

“For my roommate,” Dom said. He took a deep breath. “Or for kissing you, if you’re… offended.” He fidgeted, shifting in place, and Billy rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not offended,” he said.

Dom looked up and smiled at him. “Good.” He opened the door. “Let me introduce you to something that’ll definitely offend you,” he said.

Billy followed him out, wishing desperately that he _had_ been offended at Dom’s kiss, hadn’t kissed him back so easily; wishing that he didn’t still want to be kissing Dom right this minute, or that he wasn’t wondering when it might happen again. He sighed and prepared himself to meet Dom’s other flatmate.

~*~

Elijah was grinning like an idiot when they came out of Dom’s room, but Dom shot him a death glare that just _dared_ him to say anything, and Elijah (fucking wally) choked back his smirk and pasted on a cheerful smile as Dom made introductions. “Billy, this is Elijah, he’ll either be dining with us or leaving for Leicester Square, as he’s just been nominated for the bad timing awards.”

“It’s good to finally meet you,” Lij said, “Dom’s said a lot of nice things about you.”

Billy—who had apparently committed to pretending Elijah had never pushed the door open and seen them snogging like teenagers—looked skeptical. “That can’t be,” he said. “He talks nothing but shite about you.”

Elijah was startled into a real laugh, and Dom relaxed. He hadn’t been worried that Billy wouldn’t get on with Elijah and Orlando, precisely, but he wanted the evening to go well. He shied away from thinking about why that was true, and grabbed for his jacket. “I’m perishing, let’s go find some food.”

…

The evening did go well—Billy was his cheerful, adorable, somewhat silly self, and both Elijah and Orlando were completely charmed by him, particularly by the fact that he kept buying them both drinks. By the time they all left the restaurant to walk back to the flat, Orlando was completely rat arsed, and Elijah (only slightly better off) had put himself in charge of ensuring he made it back alive. 

“No, no, I’m leading, you’re following,” Elijah was insisting; he stepped in front of Orlando and stopped short, so Orlando crashed into his back. “Put your hands on my shoulders. No, my shoulders, Orli, like this,” Elijah dragged Orlando’s hands up, “like a conga line.” And they sashayed forward, stepping and kicking their way down the pavement and leaving Billy and Dom behind. 

“So,” Billy said, “your friends, they’re…” He looked thoughtfully at the sky for a moment. “Idjits, I think is the word I’ve been searching for.”

Dom grinned happily. “I know.”

Billy bumped him gently with his shoulder and kept walking, smiling. “Dom.”

“Yes, Bills?” Dom bumped him back. Elijah and Orlando’s two-person conga line crashed into a rubbish bin; they recovered and surged ahead again, disappearing around the corner.

“I noticed you kissing me earlier,” Billy said lightly. They were walking shoulder to shoulder; the street was quiet around them, except for Orli and Lij’s distant revelry.

Dom felt his whole face try to scrunch up into a panicky smirk; he resisted and answered in the same vein. “You noticed that, did you?”

“Aye, I did.” The Glasgow had thickened a bit with a few drinks; Dom remembered that the same thing had happened the first time they’d gotten drunk. He remembered the way Billy had groaned out the word _Gorgeous_ , taking at least five syllables to do so.

“I noticed you kissed me back,” Dom said, shivering with cold and glee and daring and desire.

“You noticed that, did you?” Billy said, echoing Dom’s own words at him, and Dom couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand not to be kissing Billy again, right then. When he stopped walking, reaching for Billy’s arm, he found Billy was turning to him, and there was _no mistaking it_ , Dom thought, _not this time_ —they were kissing again.

Dom slid his arms around Billy, pulling him close, and Billy’s hands were tangled in his hair— _oh god_ , Dom thought incoherently, _just like before—please_ —and then he wasn’t thinking much of anything, because everything was taken up by Billy’s lips, teeth, tongue, the soft noises he made as they kissed, the way he fit against Dom, all up and down his body.

They had to stop to breathe, eventually, and Billy sighed—Dom could feel his ribcage expand and contract within the circle of his arms—and let his head fall heavily onto Dom’s shoulder. “Ah, Jesus,” he said, and his thumb rubbed a circle against Dom’s nape.

Dom shivered again, at the feel of it. “Thought you didn’t date at the office,” he blurted.

“I don’t,” Billy said. He inhaled, exhaled. “We’re not dating. We’re kissing.” He nestled closer, so his lips were against Dom’s neck; Dom felt the little kiss he pressed there, hot as a coal against his skin.

“We’re not at the office right now, either,” Dom agreed.

“Mm. Good point.”

Dom pulled back, so he could look at Billy. “Come home with me,” he said, putting as much persuasion as he could into the simple words. “Please.”

Billy looked away; he unhooked his arms from around Dom’s neck and slid them down, over his shoulders first, then holding onto the collar of his jacket, tugging a little. “I shouldn’t,” he said. He met Dom’s eyes, and Dom could see the temptation there, and the troubled expression, too.

“We don’t have to date,” Dom said. He leaned forward, kissed Billy’s cheek, whispered in his ear. “We could just… kiss.” He bit gently at Billy’s earlobe and felt him shiver. “Maybe you could fuck me again.” He was hard at the thought of it, his whole body warm, needy at the thought of it, of Billy on him, in him, again. “No dating required.”

Billy’s breath hitched, and his hands tightened on Dom’s collar; he dragged him in for another kiss. “Christ,” he said, low and sweet, “you make me crazy.”

Dom moaned—he couldn’t help it—and ground himself against Billy’s body. “To hell with getting home, let’s go in an alley,” he said, breathless. “I could give you a blow job right now.”

Billy laughed against his mouth. “Dom!” He pulled back a fraction and kissed Dom’s mouth, his cheek. “No alleys. But.” He sighed, smiling—at himself? At Dom? Dom wasn’t sure. “Your flat—if Elijah and Orlando won’t care.”

“Fuck them,” Dom said, breaking away, pulling Billy by the hand. “They’re probably already passed out.”

They weren’t; they were sprawled in the lounge, the television on. Dom just said, “See you in the morning,” and pulled Billy by at lightning speed (Billy waved as he passed, looking sheepish), slamming the bedroom door closed behind them. The only light came from the sky outside, a faint, pervasive glow.

He turned and backed Billy up against the door. “Let me suck you,” Dom said, hands fumbling to unzip Billy’s jacket, unwind his scarf. “Please.” 

“Oh, no need to say ‘please,’” Billy said, voice faint as he shrugged off the coat and leaned back again. “Feel free, by all means.”

Dom fell to his knees; Billy’s cock was a tight bulge against his jeans, and Dom mouthed it even as he tugged at Billy’s zip. “Oh god,” Dom babbled, “yes, mmm,” he wrenched Billy’s jeans and pants down and wrapped one hand around him, pulling slowly, licking and sucking at the head of Billy’s cock. 

Billy’s breath caught, and Dom heard his low, “Jesus fucking Christ,” as Dom’s mouth slid down, down, down, eyes closing as he dove like a starving man, sucking hard, hands on Billy’s hips pulling him deeper until Dom was choking on it, struggling for breath, groans muffled by the thick, heavy weight of Billy in his mouth, his throat. He sucked him as sweet and hard as he knew how, setting a fast, desperate pace. Dom’s own cock ached, trapped in the too-tight confines of his trousers, trying to twitch every time Billy’s breath stuttered, every time he murmured a soft word or sound of pleasure.

“Dom,” Billy was saying, moments, minutes, years later, hands patting at Dom’s hair, “Dom, Dom, fuck, ‘m gonnae come—” He gasped, hips twitching forward, “you have to stop if you—if you dinnae want me to—ah, fuck, _fuck_.” 

Dom heard Billy’s head thunk back against the door, sucked harder and slid one hand down and under, to cradle Billy’s balls, rubbing gently behind them. He felt more than heard Billy’s desperate groan and then he was coming, silent except for his hitching, heaving breaths as Dom choked and moaned and swallowed, kneeling at Billy’s feet and taking it for all he was worth.

“Christ,” Billy panted a minute later, “you’re really good at that.” 

Dom slid back and off, swallowing again. “It was in the first module of my coursework,” he said lightly. 

Billy laughed and ran his fingers through Dom’s hair. “I may have criminally underestimated the environmental sciences.” Dom closed his eyes and leaned against Billy’s legs for a moment, still breathing deeply. “C’mere,” Billy said, “come up here.”

Dom stood—adjusting himself as he did so—and Billy gathered him close, kissed him. 

“Can I return the favor?” Billy asked, nuzzling his ear. He slid one hand down Dom’s front, cupped him through his trousers. 

Dom shuddered. “Yes, please.” 

Billy pushed him back and looked at him, snickering a little. “You’re still wearing your coat,” he said, and Dom grinned, but he was already pulling at the zip, shrugging it off as quick as he could.

“Let’s both get rid of a lot of clothes, shall we?” Dom said, tossing his coat aside, stripping his shirt over his head and dropping it, reaching for his trouser button.

~*~

“Mm, hold on,” Billy said. He batted Dom’s hands aside. “Let me,” he murmured. He ran his hands up Dom’s bare sides, leaning in to kiss his neck, tasting his skin as his hands continued stroking Dom’s arms, his belly, his chest. “Like the way you feel,” Billy said. Dom’s skin was warm, tempting under his hands, and Billy felt Dom holding himself taut, practically vibrating with need. “Relax,” he said, and kissed one particular place on his neck. “This is where I left a mark last time,” he whispered, and licked it, then closed his eyes, sucked hard, arms wrapped around Dom, one hand cradling the back of his head.

Dom twitched minutely, and then his hands dropped from Billy’s arms as his desperation slid sideways into something new. His head tipped back, a breathy sigh escaping his lips as he gave Billy better access to his neck. Dom’s whole body went soft and still, and Billy shuddered, wishing suddenly he hadn’t already come; this pliant, yielding Dom made him nearly as hot as the Dom who had been so frantic to suck him. Billy bit him—he couldn’t help it, and the shiver that went through Dom made him groan a little. 

“I want to go slower than you did,” Billy said, lifting his head. He wanted to make it as good for Dom as Dom had for him. “But don’t worry, I’ll get you there.” He drew back, unbuttoned and unzipped Dom’s trousers, pushed them down. He stepped out of his own shoes, trousers, pants, held Dom steady as he did the same. Let Dom pull his jumper up and over his head, and then pulled him close again, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin, kissing him intently, running his hands over him, up into his hair. He could feel the press of Dom’s cock against his hip, and he reached down to squeeze it gently. “On the bed,” he said, kissing Dom as he jostled him back until his knees hit the mattress. “D’you have any lube?” Billy asked.

Dom’s eyes opened slowly. “In the bedside table,” he said, and began to turn away for it.

“No, you lie down,” Billy said. “I’ll get it.”

He rummaged out the little bottle; climbed onto the bed and there was Dom, stretched out on his side, lanky and gorgeous. “So lovely,” he said, leaning down, kissing him again when Dom curved one hand around his nape and pulled him down. “Do you trust me?” Billy sat back on his heels.

Dom rolled to his back and blinked up at Billy, lips quirking up on one side. “Why, what’re you going to do to me?” he asked. 

“Nothing too weird,” Billy said, smiling back. “I just want to go slow, take my time.” _Take you apart_ , he thought, and wondered if Dom could read it there, on his face.

Dom’s eyes gleamed. “Knew you were a kinky bugger,” he said. “Have at it.” He threw his arms out and grinned at Billy, eyes fluttering closed when Billy ran one hand down his torso, wrapped his fingers around him and began stroking him slowly.

“Think I will,” Billy said, and set to it. 

And it was so good—so good to bend over Dom, kiss the gentle swells of his chest and flat belly, spread him out and use, well, a _lot_ of lube, because Billy had this idea of where he wanted to get him, and how. It involved a lot of lube, and Billy camped out between Dom’s thighs, his fingers sliding endlessly, patiently, into and out of Dom’s body; Dom flat on his back and nearly silent but for his uneven breathing, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other by his side, hand clutching the sheets as Billy ignored his cock and relentlessly, steadily fucked him with his fingers, going for his prostate with concentrated focus.

It went on, and on, and on. Dom had spoken at first; teased and flirted, gasped appreciation, moaned assent. Billy had replied, but always quietly, never faltering for a moment in his work. And after a while Dom went quiet—slid sideways again, perhaps, into that same pliant and unresisting place, where he only _felt_ , only responded. 

Dom’s legs shifted; he pulled his knees up slightly and used his heels for traction, hips pushing up in minute, shuddering rolls—as if he wanted to get away from Billy’s fingers, as if he wanted to fuck himself on Billy’s fingers, maybe wanted both. His cock was rigidly hard, flat against his belly and twitching with his heartbeat.

“Too much?” Billy asked, leaning down to place a gentle, barely there kiss on the inside of Dom’s thigh, the muscle tense under soft skin, a sprinkling of hair.

Dom gasped out loud at the brush of Billy’s lips, and his voice, when it came, was just a rasp. “No—don’t—don’t stop—” he choked out.

Billy did it again—brushed his mouth against Dom’s balls, this time, licked and then sucked them into his mouth, one at a time. They were tight and full, heavy. Dom was making soft, guttural sounds with every exhale now, breathy, broken groans that had Billy hardening again, his own cock swelling, aching a little. 

He ignored it, lifted his head and kept his attention on Dom, watching him begin to thrust more eagerly; Dom’s thighs and calves were taut, lean muscles standing out in sharp relief with each ragged push into the air. “Are you ready?” Billy asked; his own voice sounded strange to him, low and rough. “Ready to come for me?”

Dom groaned, thrust his hips into nothingness, ground back down on Billy’s fingers. “Please—please,” he gasped, and that was enough; Billy shoved his fingers in hard, held them there and leaned down, wrapping his other hand around Dom’s shaft as he slid his mouth over the head.

Dom gave a hoarse, ragged cry, his body arching off the bed. Billy felt Dom’s muscles clutch and clamp on his slippery fingers, and he slipped his mouth back and off to keep from choking. He worked Dom’s cock with tight, sweet pulls, watching him come and come and come, spurting onto his chest and then belly, thick white sliding over Billy’s hand, finally, as Dom shuddered, hips still jerking into Billy’s fist in uneven thrusts which slowly fell apart into trembling. 

“What the fuck,” Dom began mumbling, his voice cracked, “what the fuck, what the fuck.” Billy slid his fingers free, looked around and grabbed a corner of the sheet to wipe his hands clean of lube and come. He lay down over Dom, pulled him onto his side and curled around him, running his hands over Dom’s back again and again.

“All right, there?” Billy asked.

Dom was still shaking a little, tremors running through his body. “I think I’m broken,” he finally said. He pushed his head into the crook of Billy’s neck and ran a shaky hand down Billy’s side. “That was. Fuck. I don’t know what that was.” He laughed—a tiny, unsteady laugh. “What the _fuck_.”

Billy’s erection was slowly subsiding; he threw one leg over Dom and pulled him even closer. “But a good _what the fuck_ , I hope.” His belly fluttered.

Dom patted his side. “Are you kidding?” He yawned, laughed, shivered. “That’s how I hope to die, someday. I didn’t know I _could_ come that hard.”

Billy let out a relieved breath. “Oh, good,” he said. He drifted for a few minutes, petting Dom’s hair. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Dom lifted his head. “You’ve never done that before?” He squinted at him. He looked wrecked—his hair was ridiculous, expression slightly loopy. It was a good look on him.

“Well,” Billy said, considering. “I’ve done that before, but not—I’ve never—” He huffed at himself; thought, blurted it out: “I’ve never been with someone who let me just… take my time. Do it the way I wanted to do it.”

Dom dropped his head against Billy’s chest. “Ah, you mean the bloke, don’t you—your ex?”

Billy made a face, glad it was dark, and that Dom couldn’t see his expression from where he was. “Yes, if you must know. He was an impatient fucker. He was always too, well, demanding, or something. Antsy.”

Dom sighed. “Fucking idiot, is what he was.”

Billy quirked a smile. “Don’t look at me to contradict you on that.”

Dom kissed his chest. “Fuck him, I don’t want to talk about him. I want to talk about how you’re going to do that to me again, in maybe a week, when I’ve regained my ability to walk and talk.” Billy could hear the sleepy smile in his voice.

“You seem to have the talking part back just fine,” Billy said, part of him already thinking about what a disaster this would be. Dating another co-worker. _I’m an idiot_.

“I can hear just fine, too,” Dom said.

Billy tugged at his hair gently. “What’s that mean?”

“Means I can hear you thinking, _Fuck, I’m not supposed to date people I work with_ ,” Dom said.

“You can hear that, hm?”

Dom nodded against his chest. “But I have good news for you.”

Billy closed his eyes for an instant; opened them again to gaze up at the faintly glowing stars on the ceiling. “Do you, now?” 

“Yep,” Dom said. “We’re not dating.”

“No?” Billy said lightly.

Dom’s head moved again—a nod? A headshake? Billy couldn’t tell. “Nope. We’re just friends.” He squeezed Billy. “Very good friends, who occasionally trade mind-blowing, knee-weakening sexual favors.”

Billy couldn’t help it; he smiled and pressed a kiss to Dom’s hair. “Is that right?”

Dom nodded—definitely a nod. “Yes. Friends with benefits.” He patted Billy’s arm. “Really excellent benefits. Amazing, can’t-walk-for-a-week benefits.”

“That sounds like a smart idea,” Billy said. _You’re an idiot_ , his good sense informed him. Again.

“Of course it’s a smart idea,” Dom said. “Did I mention that I’m a very intelligent man with many hours of university coursework completed?” He was still patting Billy’s arm, or rubbing it, really.

“Oh, that sounds unlikely,” Billy said. _But I’m an idiot who’ll be having sex regularly_ , he replied to his good sense, and he sighed with pleasant resignation and kissed Dom’s ear.

An indeterminate amount of quiet passed. “Can you stay?” Dom asked, his voice sleepy.

He felt so warm and nice, all tucked up against Billy, but some responsibilities couldn’t be forgotten. Billy sighed. “I’d love to, but I have to get home. Gotta feed the cats.”

“Mm,” Dom said. He yawned. “I’d walk you out, but as I may have mentioned, you’ve broken me,” he said. He belied the words, though, sitting up even as he spoke. He reached over Billy and snapped on the bedside lamp. 

“You have any neighbors looking in?” Billy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dom stretched his arms over his head. “Hope so,” he said. He waggled his eyebrows at Billy. “Wouldn’t want all our hard work going to waste.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “You’re such a shy creature.” He glanced out the window—it didn’t _look_ like anyone could see into the flat—and clambered off the bed, wincing as his knees popped. 

He got dressed; Dom pulled on a pair of track pants and walked him out. Elijah and Orlando weren’t in the lounge, thank God for small favors; the only light came from a small table lamp in one corner. At the door, Dom curled his fingers into Billy’s shirt and reeled him gently in. “Gimme a kiss.”

Billy did. “Feels a little like a dating thing,” he said against Dom’s lips, when they stopped to breathe. “A goodnight kiss.”

“Nooo,” Dom said, “just a friendly kiss. Between mates.” He tilted his head slightly, leaned in and kissed Billy again. It was lazy and sweet and heated, and Billy didn’t give a damn; he wrapped his arms around Dom’s bare torso and kissed him back.

“Pretty good benefits,” Billy said, stepping back reluctantly.

“I’m a pretty good friend,” Dom said. 

“Looks that way,” Billy replied, and he slipped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the comment about Elijah being nominated for the Bad Timing Awards, say thank you to the writers of "Live Free or Die Hard," who gave those words to Justin Long. Thanks for the loan, writers!


	6. POSSIBLY CHAPTER SIX

They were seven days out from Christmas, and in the past two weeks, Billy and Dom had gone on zero dates and had sex four times. 

They’d gone to the pub twice after work, but Dom assured Billy those weren’t dates, and Billy wasn’t inclined to insist. Billy had gone to Dom’s twice to play video games with Dom and Orlando (and Elijah when he appeared; apparently he really was a doctor in residence, despite the fact that he looked about twelve years old), and those times definitely hadn’t seemed like dates.

Except that after all four non-dates, Billy and Dom ended the evening in Dom’s bedroom with a lot more nudity and sex than Billy was accustomed to with friends. Again, though, he was disinclined to quibble about labels, because fucking Dom—sucking him, pinning him to the bed and moving over and in him, watching Dom give himself over to it completely the way he did—was _amazing_ , and Billy didn’t want to stop doing it. 

He wanted more of it, and on this particular Tuesday night, as he swiveled idly in his chair and waited for the servers to run their updates, Billy was wondering if he could talk Dom into coming over to watch football on Saturday, so that he could hide his clothes and keep him in bed for about 48 hours, and he and Billy could try some things Billy had thought of since their last non-date.

His phone chimed, and he picked it up and looked at it. It was Dom.

_Have you eaten?_

_No_ , Billy texted back. _But there’s leftover pizza in the break room fridge with my name on it._

 _I had to go to the shops_ , Dom sent. _I have food—coming up._

Dom appeared in the doorway three minutes later with carrier bags in both hands and a bobble hat pulled down over his ridiculous ears.

Billy thumbed his phone, turning down the music he’d had blaring from the little bluetooth speaker he kept on his desk. “What would you have done if I’d said I’d eaten?” Billy asked mildly, shoving binders and keyboards aside so Dom could set down the bag from Square Pie.

Dom dropped the other bag onto the floor and struggled out of his anorak. “Fed Orlando, I suppose,” he said, collapsing into the other chair. “He’s always hungry, the git.” He unpacked the bag, handing Billy a plastic fork and a tidy box, setting out his own food.

“And now he’ll starve.” Billy opened the box and leaned down to inhale. “This is a sight better than leftover pizza.”

“Thought it might be,” Dom said. “All quiet on the western front?”

“Thought the Germans might be invading, but it was just a noisy car in the street,” Billy said. He took a bite, closed his eyes. “Mmm. Steak and Guinness is the best.”

Dom’s mouth was full; he just nodded agreement.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, conversation limited to the weather (brass monkeys) and the server updates (bloody slow). Billy went and fetched them fizzy drinks from the machines. He sat back down and pushed Dom’s toward him. “This feels a bit like a date,” he said.

Dom swallowed, picked up his can and popped it open. “Nah. No candles.” He drank deeply, belched behind his hand. 

“Is that the criteria?” Billy asked, hiding a smile.

Dom shrugged. “Sorry, mate,” he said. “You don’t rate candles—it’s not that kind of relationship.”

“I’m hurt,” Billy said. “You wound me greatly.” He poked at the remains of his pasty. “Seeing as we’re friends, do you want to come round to my place and watch footie Saturday?” He met Dom’s eyes across the desk and reminded himself that even if they were fucking, he probably shouldn’t shove Dom against a rack of servers and suck him into a sweaty, incoherent mess. There were security cameras, for one thing.

Dom swallowed; cleared his throat. “Sure,” he said. “What time is the match?”

“No idea,” Billy said. _Although I’m the one with access to the security camera footage_.

“I’ll get there at three,” Dom replied, still holding Billy’s eyes.

 _And then I’d have my own private stash of porn_. Dom wasn’t helping Billy’s resolve to be a bloody professional; his gaze had gone sleepy and warm, and he looked like he was just gagging to be shoved up against a server rack and sucked off. 

Billy forced himself to look away. “Shite,” he said, noticing that one of the updates had stalled. He busied himself getting it going again before turning back to Dom. “So, football Saturday.”

“What if I drink a lot?” Dom asked with studied innocence.

“Oh, you can stay over at my place if that happens,” Billy reassured him, equally earnest. “Won’t be a problem at all.”

“You’re such a good friend,” Dom said, batting his lashes.

“That’s what I’m told.” Billy leaned back in his chair. “Secret Santa exchanges start tomorrow, what did you end up getting Miranda?”

Dom smirked. “Never you mind. I know it’s your half-day, but you should get here in time for lunch.”

“I have to, don’t I?” Billy said. “Gotta get my pressies, too. And give,” he added.

“You never told me who you drew,” Dom said, cocking his head.

“And I’m not,” Billy said. “It’s called ‘ _Secret_ Santa,’ Dom.”

Dom sighed. “Maybe you’re not such a good friend after all.”

“Guess you’ll find out Saturday,” Billy said, immensely pleased with himself, with Dom, with the world in general.

…

Billy made sure to get to Weta by 11:30 on Wednesday, even though he really didn’t have to be there till one; but he wanted to open his Secret Santa gifts, and see what Dom had got for Miranda, and also see Dom open his first gift. It was a three-day exchange, the final gift coming at Friday’s official office party, scheduled for 3 p.m. with the understanding that they’d all be off home by closing, possibly (hopefully) pissed to the gills; Peter and Fran would pay for taxis as needed.

Billy stopped at his office to drop off his jacket and bag, then went to the admin area and checked his mail slot. Sure enough, there was a gift-wrapped box, heavy and square, crammed into the cubby, and Billy grabbed it and headed for the break room. By the time he got there it was crowded with employees, and Billy scanned the room for Dom. For these first two days of the exchange, people didn’t have to open their gifts publicly, but as Dom had told Billy, it was more fun if everyone saw what was received.

And there was Dom, at a table near the window with Ian and Sala, Weta’s intimidating statistics specialist.

(“What does a statistics specialist do at Weta?” Billy had asked Dom in his first days on the job.

Dom shrugged eloquently. “I’ve no idea, but,” he indicated Sala’s well-over-six-foot frame and massive shoulders, at the time filling the doorway as Sala left the break room, “that one does whatever he pleases.”

Billy had nodded thoughtfully.)

Billy went over and slid into the seat Dom had saved him. “Fellas,” he said, nodding to them. “When’s the fun begin?”

“We’re waiting for Fran,” Ian said. “How was your morning, Billy?”

“Filled with suspense,” Billy said. “There was a wee moth up in the corner of the window, and Francie and Josie weren’t sure if they’d manage to capture it.” He and Ian always traded animal stories; Ian and his husband Sean had three cats and a dog, and Billy knew all their names.

Ian nodded solemnly. “I trust the situation was resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Billy tilted his head in assent. “Everyone except the moth, maybe,” he said. He reached out and smacked Dom’s hand, creeping toward Billy’s gift. “Oi, hands off, Monaghan, that’s my pressie.”

Dom drew his hand back. “Ouch, dammit. I’m filing a hostile workplace report with Ian as soon as lunch is over.”

“I’ll await the paperwork with bated breath,” Ian said dryly.

Sala interrupted. “Fran’s here.”

So she was, and Billy quickly saw why they’d waited for her; she effortlessly organized them, jollied everyone into pulling their chairs into a circle, and then pointed across the circle to Liv. “Start us off, Liv, dear,” Fran said, and the unwrappings began.

When they came to Billy and his neighbors, Sala went first, unwrapping a pair of enormous fuzzy bunny slippers. He accepted his gift with aplomb; Dom reached and took one from him and held it up. “Are these your actual shoe size?” Dom asked, and when Sala nodded, Dom looked awed. “It’s big enough to cover my whole head,” he said, holding the slipper up; sure enough, it blocked his face.

When he began to lower it, Billy reached over and moved it so it covered Dom’s face again. “No, just keep it there, that’s perfect,” he said, to general laughter.

Sala plucked the slipper from Dom’s hand, reached behind Dom and Ian and batted Billy gently on the back of the head with it. “I need these,” he said, “my feet hurt.” And he proceeded to remove his size 13 wingtips and slide his feet into the soft pink bunny slippers to general applause.

Ian was next; he unwrapped a soft blue scarf. “Lovely,” he said, and wrapped it about his neck with practiced flair. “I believe it’s your turn now, young Dominic,” he said.

Dom had a narrow, flat box with a bow stuck haphazardly on it; he used his fingernails to slice through the cellotape holding it closed and tugged off the top, face alight with curiosity, until he saw the gift; his expression went flat and rather chagrined. “It’s a tie,” he said, tipping the box so they could all see it, and a ripple of laughter went through the room. “At least now I know who my Secret Santa is.” He squinted at Peter, who grinned and held up his hands, disavowing responsibility.

Billy picked his gift up from where he’d set it by his feet and tore open the paper. “It’s a candle,” he said, looking at it, “one of those scented ones.” His eyes went wide as the odor reached him. “It’s cinnamon,” he said, trying desperately not to show how much he absolutely despised cinnamon. “How... nice,” he said, and handed it across Dom to Ian. “Pass it around,” he said brightly, hoping it would accidentally fall into the rubbish bin along the way.

The exchange continued; Billy watched closely when Miranda opened hers, a jewelry-sized box which contained… a packet of straight pins with tiny colored beads at their tops, like those used for sewing or quilting. Her brow furrowed as she examined the packet; finally she smiled and shrugged. “Maybe it’s part one of three?” she said hopefully.

Billy raised an eyebrow, but carefully didn’t look at Dom. “I wonder what it could be?” he mused quietly.

He could see Dom’s tiny smirk from the corner of his eye. “No telling.”

…

Day two of the Secret Santa exchange saw Miranda receive a toy mallet of soft plastic, that squeaked when she brought it down. She laughed, nose wrinkled up in puzzlement. “I have no idea what this is all about,” she said, and bopped Liv and Brett (seated on either side of her) on the knees with it, “but I like it.”

Dom got another tie, this one Christmas-themed and somewhat tacky; he immediately put it on (over his dark green henley) and snugged it right up to his chin. “See,” he said to Peter, sitting nearby, “I can dress appropriately for the office.”

“Not even a little,” Billy said, and unwrapped his second gift: a tin of cinnamon cookies from Denmark. “How thoughtful,” he said weakly—at least he couldn’t smell them through the tin. “I’ll have to save these for Christmas Day.” He set the tin under his chair, hoping to ‘forget’ it there, but after lunch, Liv helpfully pointed it out to him (as Dom went into a silent paroxysm of laughter behind her) just before Billy made it out of the breakroom.

~*~

Dom poked his head into the server room Friday at 2:56. “Hey.”

Billy looked up. “Are my weary labors at an end?”

Dom came in and circled around the desk, where it became clear that Billy was playing Plants vs. Zombies on his enormous monitor. “Yes, I think you’ve earned a break.” He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, we have to get in on the Santa Pool.”

“But Dom, I don’t want to get into a Santa Pool,” Billy said. “That sounds… messy.” He closed his game and stood. “Too much wet, crushed velvet in an enclosed space, for one thing.”

“Prat,” Dom said fondly, dragging him out. “Everyone puts in ten pounds and writes down their guess for who their Secret Santa is, and the pot is split among whoever guesses right.”

Billy patted his back pocket, making sure he had his wallet. “I’m going to guess ‘Satan himself’ for mine,” he said. Dom turned his head away so Billy wouldn’t see his smirk.

…

Modest attempts to holiday-ify the break room had run amok; there were flimsy plastic tablecloths on the tables, and fairy lights strung around the door. Someone had strewn tinsel garland over the vending machines and around the motley collection of bottles on the drinks table, and something jazzy, with added sleigh bells, was playing on a speaker beside the stacked cups.

“Here to put in your bets, boys?” Andy raised his eyebrows at Dom and Billy.

“Here’s my money, Serkis,” Dom said. “Where do I—ah.” He pulled over the memo pad, wrote his name and his guess, and passed it to Billy.

“Really? Jackson?” Billy pulled out his wallet and passed a tenner to Andy. 

“Who else would give me two ties?” Dom peered over Billy’s shoulder to see who he wrote down. “Who do you think your Secret Santa is?”

“Either Satan or… I don’t know. I know it’s not you.” Billy scratched his head. “Terrorists?” He finally sighed and wrote ‘Brett?’ “ _I_ dunno, he doesn’t know me very well,” he said to Dom’s incredulous face.

“Good luck,” Andy said. 

“We can start drinking now, right?” Billy said.

“And how,” Dom replied. They fetched drinks and grabbed chairs.

At 3:30 Fran rounded everyone up and had them go find their final gifts on the table that had been piled high in one corner. Dom sat back down—another fucking tie, the box was the exact same shape and weight as the previous two—and showed it to Billy. “Seriously,” he said. “I get it.”

Billy showed him his gift—a large flat box, cheerfully wrapped with a jaunty bow. “It’s probably a lifetime supply of cinnamon sticks.” He looked glum and cautiously sniffed it. “Well, I don’t smell it yet, anyway,” he added, and threw back a swallow of whisky.

Dom took the box from his lap and shook it consideringly. “It doesn’t sound like cinnamon sticks. It sounds like… clothes, maybe?”

“It’s a trap,” Billy said. Dom was torn between wanting to laugh at him and wanting to snog him silly; he settled for stealing a sip of his whisky.

“Get your own,” Billy said, snatching the cup away.

“Everyone ready to start?” Fran called, and the unwrapping—for the third and final time—began.

As Ian, across the room, opened a hat box to pull out a slate grey trilby to oohs and aahs, Billy leaned over to whisper in Dom’s ear. “What did you get Miranda?”

“Patience is a virtue, William,” Dom said without looking at him.

There was a pause; Billy stayed where he was, breathing gently against Dom’s neck, and finally said, “I’ll thank you to remember that tomorrow.” He straightened and took another drink.

Dom’s eyes widened involuntarily as all the blood in his brain rushed south. “Arsehole,” he said lightly, and Billy laughed under his breath.

“Thank you so much, Miranda,” Ian was saying, and she waved to him, smiling.

On the circle went, until it was Dom’s turn.

“Whatever could it be?” he asked with loud curiosity, shaking the narrow box in every way possible. “A pony? A bowling ball? A coatrack?”

“A tie rack?” Billy suggested.

Dom tore off the paper and opened the box to reveal, “oh look, another fucking tie!” Dom chirped. This one was the tackiest yet, and after he fumbled at it for a moment, Dom found the tiny switch that set the fairy lights emblazoned on it to blinking. Laughter ran around the room and Dom put the tie carefully on. 

“Who’s your Santa?” Sala called.

“It’s got to be Pete,” Dom said, and he lifted the tissue from the box in search of a card. _To Dom from Billy_ it said in Billy’s chicken-scratch printing. _Get a fucking tie and dress appropriately for once in your life_.

Dom read it out loud—more laughter—and stared at the card. He then sat back in his chair and turned his whole body so he could give Billy an incredulous look. “Are. You. Fucking. Kidding me.” Billy was bent over in his chair, he was laughing so hard. Dom loosened the tie and lifted it off, then dropped it around Billy’s neck and mimed choking him with it.

“All right, all right,” Billy wheezed, “I’ll wear it for you.” He pushed Dom away and adjusted the tie, then picked his box up. “My turn, then.”

He opened the box cautiously—Dom could see his face tense slightly—but folded back the tissue to reveal a shirt. The ugliest shirt Dom had ever seen, in fact, blocky stripes of red, dark grey, and light grey, in eye-searing patterns. “A shirt!” Billy said, lifting it out to display it. “It’s quite nice.” Dom looked at his face to see if he was serious, but Billy had an amazing poker face, and he at least _looked_ sincere. “And who’s my Santa?” Billy mumbled, rooting around in the box. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and read it, then smiled at Liv, two people down from Dom. “Why, thank you, love,” he said. “However did you know my size?”

Liv beamed. “Dom helped with the whole thing! I couldn’t think of another cinnamon gift, so he helped me pick the shirt out for you for the third present.” 

Billy’s face was very pink, but his smile never changed. “Dom helped, did he?” He glanced at Dom—Dom choked back the desperate need to laugh himself ill—and then looked back at Liv. “Well, you did wonderfully, Liv, thank you.”

“Happy Christmas,” she said, and he raised his glass to her.

The game moved on to Sean, the lone American at Weta, and under cover of the laughter about his faux-fur-lined, Russian-style hat, Billy leaned close to Dom again. “I’m going to murder you,” he said, very cheerfully and very low.

Dom tilted his head closer and murmured back, “Worth it for the ties alone.” He met Billy’s eyes, saw the humour gleaming there, and grinned full out.

“Ooh, it’s Miranda’s turn,” Billy said, shifting his gaze. 

Miranda had a gift bag; she pulled out handful after handful of crumpled tissue and then, finally, she lifted out what looked to be a small plush doll. She cocked her head and examined it, turning it over in her hands slowly, and finally lifted her eyes to Dom.

He felt the insane desire to flee or laugh bubbling up, and held perfectly still; he could feel his lips tremble as he tried not to smile. The room got very quiet.

“Dom,” she said. “Why have you given me a soft toy of yourself?”

“Well,” he replied. “You remember the pins, right?” She nodded. “And the mallet.” She nodded again, one corner of her mouth beginning to curl upward. “I have given you the gift of myself,” Dom said, spreading his arms out wide. “A voodoo doll of myself, to be completely clear.” He smiled sunnily at her.

She pursed her lips. Looked at the doll in her hands, then back at Dom, and finally, finally, smiled. “Well, it really is the gift that keeps on giving,” she said, and laughed.

“Just like me,” Dom replied, and bowed to her, still seated.

~*~

The party went on till well after closing, but Billy slid out at 6:15. “Got to get home and tidy the place up,” he told Dom (who was wearing his blinking Christmas tie again). “See you tomorrow.”

“Should I bring anything?” Dom asked.

Billy considered. “Beer, if you like, but I have plenty,” he said. He flicked a glance sideways, caught Dom’s eye and raised an eyebrow. “You could bring those ties,” he said, and grinned.

Dom looked like he was about to asphyxiate on the fourteen retorts all trying to escape, which Billy took as his cue to exit.

His phone rang as he trotted down the steps out of the Underground station. “Margo,” he said, by way of hello. “All right?”

“All right, Bill,” she said. “Just wanted to make sure you got my email about Monday.”

“I did,” Billy said, edging around a knot of pedestrians. “I’ll be expecting you sometime late morning, let me know when you have something official. Anything you want to do here for Christmas Eve?”

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” she said. And then suddenly, “Ooh, yes I do, I want to meet your friend Dom.”

Billy nearly walked into a lamp post. “What? No, you don’t, be serious.”

“I do!” she said, sounding implacably cheery. “C’mon, he sounds like great fun.”

 _Oh, he is_ , Billy thought, and thanked God and all the angels in heaven that he could fend her off. “You can’t meet him, he’s taking the train to Manchester to see his family.”

“That’s disappointing,” she said. “I was going to offer to do his nails.”

Billy rolled his eyes and stopped in front of the off-licence. “There’s always next time,” he said. “Listen, I need to ring off, I’ve got to pick up something at the shop.”

“Off-licence, more likely,” she sniffed, and he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it for a second. Sometimes she was positively terrifying, his sister. “Fine, I’ll see you in three days anyway.”

“Yes, you will. Safe travels, and let me know if you think of anything you want to do while you’re here.”

They traded farewells and Billy set about his errands. He wanted enough beer and food in the house that he and Dom wouldn’t have to put on clothing until Dom walked out the door on Sunday, and he was hoping the walking part might be difficult.


	7. CHAPTER... SEVEN?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the chapter titles:
> 
> Listen, you know and I know that AO3, because it is an omniscient and benevolent god, is telling me the numbers of these chapters as I post this. BUT, what you don't know but I *do* know, is that when I was writing, this whole unwieldy THING just kept getting longer and longer and longer, and I completely lost track of things, and so I began naming the chapters random things because It Amused Me. 
> 
> So, please enjoy watching the chapter names go off the rails (Coming Soon To A Fic Near You), or else you can of course merely ignore the silliness of the chapter titles and skip right to the silliness of the story itself.

There was a knock on the door at 2:54 p.m. on Saturday. Billy approached and peered through the peephole. He saw Dom, looking weirdly distorted by the fisheye lens.

“Who is it?” he sang.

Dom stopped fidgeting and fixed the peephole with a sardonic gaze. “Hetty Wainthropp,” he said.

“What’s that?” Billy queried. “We don’t want any!”

He kept his eye pressed to the door and grinned to see Dom’s eyebrow go up. “Are you sure?”

“It’s too early!” Billy said loudly. “I’m not expecting anyone till three!”

Dom smirked. “Are you still in your curlers?”

Billy snickered. “Don’t you wish.”

“Why, Mr. Boyd,” Dom said, leaning close to the door and waggling his eyebrows outrageously, “are you… _naked?_ ” He whispered the last word loudly.

Billy whipped the door open. “No, Dom, I’m wearing my new favorite shirt!”

Dom reeled back in horror. “You did _not_.”

It was Billy’s turn to waggle his eyebrows outrageously, as he reached out and curled his fists into Dom’s jacket. “Oh, but I _did_ ,” he said, and dragged him in.

 

 

…

 

 

“Well, that’s the first five minutes of the game missed,” Dom panted, sprawled on the floor with his trousers tangled around his knees.

“I call foul,” Billy said, propping himself up on his elbows. “That was at least six minutes of game time, plus you got here early, so let’s say eight minutes of quality friendship were just enjoyed by all.” He smirked. “ _And_ I’m still wearing my new favorite shirt.” The carpet was uncomfortable against his bits, but he didn’t care even a little.

Dom rolled his head sideways and glared at Billy. “I’m burning that shirt,” he said.

“But Dom, it was my Christmas pressie,” Billy said. “And you helped pick it out.” He leaned close and licked Dom’s ear, then spoke confidingly into it. “I’m thinking of wearing it every day.”

“We have laws against that kind of perversion here in England,” Dom sniffed, and blinked up at Billy’s ceiling. “Do you have any beer?”

Billy pushed himself up with an effort: from belly to hands and knees, then to feet, one hand on the wall to steady himself; Dom’s enthusiasm sometimes had the side effect of weakening a person’s knees. “I have beer, whisky, gin, fizzy drinks, and water.” He gazed down at Dom. “Your wish is my command.”

“Take off that fucking shirt,” Dom said immediately.

Billy kicked his pants off the rest of the way—they’d been clinging valiantly to their duty, caught around one ankle—and wandered into the kitchen wearing only the shirt. “Nope,” he smirked. “It’s my fucking shirt and I’m keeping it on.”

 

 

…

 

 

They really did watch the game, at least some of it. Billy came back from the kitchen and found Dom stretched out on the sofa, the blanket Billy kept handy covering him from the neck down and the telly turned to football, volume low.

“What’ve you got on under that thing?” Billy asked, setting two beers on coasters on the coffee table, and ignoring the fact that he’d stepped over Dom’s clothes, a little heap between the front door and the settee.

Dom grinned. “Come and see.”

“Maybe after some footie,” Billy said, and he lifted Dom’s feet and squeezed himself onto the far end of the sofa, lowering Dom’s legs—bare—and the blanket so they were over his lap.

He saw Dom’s pout from the corner of his eye, but he seemed docile enough, and settled in to watch the game, drinking his beer and making snide comments about Liverpool. Billy shifted around so Dom’s heels weren’t pressing anything vital, then slid his hands under the blanket and circled Dom’s ankles loosely with his hands. “Are your feet ticklish?” he asked.

“Nope,” Dom said, wriggling a little and then relaxing again. “Gonna give me a foot massage?” he asked hopefully. “Ooh, or you could paint my toenails,” he said.

Billy rolled his eyes. “I don’t have any nail varnish here,” he said, but he did run his hands over Dom’s feet and ankles in slow, soothing strokes.

“I have some in my bag, with my spare clothes,” Dom said. “...That feels good.” He sighed happily.

“Hm,” Billy said. The bag was somewhere near the front door, where it had been unceremoniously dropped at 2:55. “You brought spare clothing?”

Dom was motionless for a second, then he said, “Just in case I spilled beer on my shirt.” He blinked at Billy earnestly. “While we were watching the game.”

Billy nodded. “Right—the game gets exciting sometimes, gotta be prepared.”

“Exactly.” Dom relaxed again, and Billy continued rubbing his feet.

And his ankles, and—carefully not removing his gaze from the television—his calves, shins, and knees, slow strokes of his hands that made Dom sigh in pleasure.

Billy slouched sideways slightly, and began moving his impromptu massage in a northerly direction, running his hands over Dom’s thighs, then back down, then up, slowly ranging higher and higher.

Dom sighed again, and when Billy looked at him, his eyes were closed, head lolling back on the sofa arm.

Billy smiled to himself and began speaking quietly as he petted Dom under the blanket. “Well, I know you don’t have on shoes and socks,” he said, rubbing Dom’s feet again. “No jeans.” He dug firm fingers into Dom’s calves, and Dom made a little noise. Billy let his hands roam higher again. “I don’t feel any shorts, either. Hmm.” He ran his hand up Dom’s thigh, warm skin and the slight scritch of hair; laid his hand over the top of Dom’s thigh and slid it down, caressing the inside of his thigh. “No pants so far,” Billy murmured.

Dom shifted and let his knees fall wider; his eyes were open again, glinting at Billy beneath heavy lids, his mouth curving in a small smile.

Billy stroked the insides of Dom’s thighs for a while; the skin was soft, lean firm muscle underneath, everything relaxed under his hands. Billy slouched further sideways and slid his hand up Dom’s hip to his belly (Dom made a soft sound of disappointment when Billy bypassed his cock, and Billy hid a private smirk) and then across his chest, smooth and sprinkled with just a few hairs. “No shirt, either,” Billy said.

He moved his hands down, stroked Dom’s hips again, his thighs—Dom spread his legs wider still, knees bent and splayed. “Still, I guess you could be wearing a thong,” Billy said. “Better check.” He slid his hand onto Dom’s cock, cupping and rubbing gently, loving the way it began to swell, responding to his ministrations. “Nope, no thong.” He paused in his massage and looked at Dom. “Why, Dominic, are you naked on my sofa?”

Dom pressed his hips up into Billy’s hand. “You’ve found me out,” he said.

“I suddenly feel overdressed,” Billy said, squeezing.

“Take off that fucking shirt,” Dom suggested brightly.

Billy dragged the blanket off Dom and heaved himself up and over him, stretching out and rocking his hips into Dom’s. “Nope, it’s my fucking shirt,” he said, “and I’m keeping it on.” He grinned and leaned down to kiss him for a long time.

 

 

~*~

 

 

At some point (after the Liverpool game, before Man U was scheduled; after the first two beers were long gone, along with a packet of crisps and half a bag of edamame pods) Dom wandered out of the loo and didn’t see Billy in the lounge.

Or the kitchen, and by the process of elimination (guided by an intuition that Billy wasn’t in the linen cupboard with the water heater), Dom wandered down the little hall and into the bedroom.

“Oh, there you are,” he said, and—ignoring Billy, lounging on his side on the duvet wearing only the hideous grey and red shirt—he crossed to the dresser and petted the orange cat which was sitting there alertly, looking at him. “I thought Billy had two cats,” he said, still not looking at the other man.

“Josie is hiding behind the television cabinet,” Billy said. “Get over here.”

Dom continued to scritch the orange kitty’s ears. “Do you hear that?” he asked it. “I thought I heard someone telling me your brother is hiding, but it was drowned out by a really loud shirt.” He surreptitiously glanced into the vanity mirror, which showed Billy looking increasingly irritable on the bed.

A wadded up ball of paper went sailing out the door, and the orange cat leaped out from under Dom’s hand to give chase.

“He won’t be back for a while,” Billy said; Dom was looking out the door, but he could hear the mattress creak slightly as Billy moved.

Dom turned slowly around and did an exaggerated double-take at finding his friend just behind him. “Bills! There you are! I was just saying—”

Billy grabbed him by the ears and kissed him, hard. “You’re an idiot,” he said.

“For picking out that shirt?” Dom said. “Yes. Now—”

Billy kissed him again, pulling him back toward the bed; Dom could see a bottle of lube and a messy skein of condom wrappers tumbled up by the pillows. “I want you to fuck me,” he mumbled into Dom’s mouth, and Dom’s train of thought ( _tease Billy, get him out of that shirt, give him a long, slow blow-job_ ) went off the rails and crashed in a fiery explosion.

“What—God— _yes_ ,” Dom stuttered, eyes flying open. “ _Please_. Right now.”

Billy let go of Dom and let himself topple back onto the mattress. “And if you want the shirt off,” he said, “all you have to do is take it off me.” He pulled one leg up, maybe to get traction and move further back on the bed, but it pushed the shirt up and away and Dom could see Billy’s cock, half-hard again, mouth-watering, thick and perfect and—

Billy turned over to crawl up the bed, and Dom saw his arse, and that was pretty much it for thought.

Dom did get the shirt off Billy, consigning it loudly to the seventh circle of hell (“Oh, is that where you bought it, I’d wondered,” Billy chirped) and then he pushed him onto his belly and set about rimming Billy into moaning, stuttering, gasping incoherence.

“ _Oh_ , Jesus, oh _fuck_ , oh, oh,” Billy was finally groaning, somewhat muffled by the duvet; Dom had shoved a pillow under his hips, wrestled his legs wide and begun licking, sucking, teasing, fingering. Billy was open and wet and wanting, now, hips twitching into the pillow and face pressed into the duvet, hands clenched in the fabric.

Dom sat up, rubbing his arm roughly over his mouth and chin to dry them. “Ready?” he asked, but it was a rhetorical question; Billy had been ready for at least two fingers, alternately begging Dom to fuck him and threatening him with bodily harm if he didn’t fuck him immediately. “God, you look good,” Dom said; he ran one hand down the valley of Billy’s spine, then reached for the condoms and lube.

Billy had stopped humping the pillow and was barely moving now, squirming a little. “How do you want me?” he asked, low and hot.

Dom took a second to just breathe; he got the condom on himself, lube on the condom. “Just like that,” he said, and draped himself over Billy. “Okay?”

Billy shifted: spread his legs wider yet, pulled his arms in and braced himself under Dom. “Hurry up,” he said.

Dom lifted himself slightly so he could see what he was doing; rubbed the tip of his cock against Billy’s arse and then slowly, carefully pressed in.

He knew Billy rarely bottomed; he liked it, he’d told Dom, but he had a hard time relaxing enough. _Alcohol helps_ , he’d said, grinning, and Dom had smirked. _Well, I love bottoming, so no worries_ , Dom had said. _I’ll take it all day._ And Billy’s eyes had darkened, just a little, and he’d licked his lips and said, _That sounds like a good day_.

And it was true, but oh god, Billy felt so tight and good. Dom sank into him, a low moan caught in his throat. He bent his head; kissed Billy’s nape (flushed, damp with sweat, bowed under Dom’s mouth), and began to move slowly.

“Is it all right?” he asked, forcing his voice to _quiet_ , to _nearly normal_.

Billy nodded—movement against Dom’s lips—and said, “Yeah.” He shifted a little—Dom’s cock slid out, then in deeper—and said again, “Yeah.” And then, “Fuck me.”

Dom kissed his neck again, then his shoulder: solid, heavy, the muscles shifting as Billy held himself up. Dom ran one hand down Billy’s side to his hip, then curled over him again and began to move, slow, unhurried strokes in and out, again and again, hands pressed into the duvet on either side of Billy’s body as he rode him, bearing him down beneath the weight and movement and slippery stutter of Dom’s cock within his body.

Billy lay quiet under him and took it, and Dom closed his eyes and moved a little faster. “Bill—” He heard his voice break. “Fuck. _Billy_.” He slid inward a little harder, let his body press the other man down and lowered his mouth to Billy’s skin, breath harsh against his shoulder blade. “You feel so—oh _god_. So good—so _hot_.”

Billy moaned, hips beginning to move in counterpoint to Dom’s, rocking himself against the bed as Dom rocked into him. “Jesus,” Billy was mumbling, gasping again as Dom sped, as everything began winding tighter and tighter, “Jesus, Jesus—anh, _anh—_ ” He was panting, rutting against the pillow and the bed, voice spiraling up, “fuck, Dom, I’m almost—ah—ah—don’t stop don’t stop _don’t stop_ —”

Dom was fucking him with tight, steady thrusts, balls heavy, words and breath and madness all tangled up in the slick, scorching grip of Billy’s arse on his cock, Billy’s writhing body beneath his and the way Billy’s head bent down, the way his toes dug into the duvet for traction as he struggled toward his climax.

“Come for me,” Dom groaned, “come on, fucking—fucking—”

He heard Billy cry out, high and desperate, and then his muscles were clenching around Dom’s cock, Billy was keening and bucking beneath him. Dom snarled— “ _Yes_ —” and shoved in hard, throwing his head back as he came with almost painful intensity, the pleasure sparking through him as he thrust again and again, emptying himself and finally collapsing slowly onto Billy, whose lungs were heaving as desperately as Dom’s own.

Dom lay there for a while, letting his heart slow from its thunderous rhythm, his breath from its frenzied gasping. Eventually he lifted himself, slid up and out. His cock was softening, and he peeled the condom off with a little hiss, shifted toward the edge of the bed holding the damp, crumpled plastic carefully until he spotted a small rubbish bin and could dispose of it.

He rolled back toward Billy, still sprawled on his belly, eyes closed and completely boneless atop the duvet. “Are you going to make it?” Dom asked, kissing his ear solicitously.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Billy murmured. “Take care of my cats, now that I’m dead.”

Dom snickered into his hair and lay half on him, running his hand down Billy’s damp back. “I don’t think they’d be nice to Bella,” Dom said. “They outnumber her.”

“And they’re arseholes,” Billy said, eyes still closed, mouth curving up at one corner.

“I’ll send them to your sister,” Dom said, patting his bum. “Parcel post.”

“That’s fine,” Billy sighed.

They were quiet for a minute or three, Dom still petting Billy’s skin.

“Dom?” Billy said.

“Yes, Bills.”

“Bury me in my favorite shirt.” He cracked open one eye and looked at Dom. “My fucking shirt.”

“I was going to keep it in remembrance of you,” Dom said, “but all right.” He kissed Billy’s ear again and snuggled into his side, closing his eyes and smiling like a loon.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Later still—much later, after a takeaway dinner and watching Man U play, a couple more beers, bedtime ablutions and a brief battle with a cat which wanted to sleep where Dom’s head already was—Billy woke up in the middle of the night, because Dom was curled around his back, arm over his waist and hand pulling slowly at Billy’s cock. The covers were pushed down, and cool night air washed over him where Dom wasn’t pressed against him, close and hot.

“Hnh?” Billy slurred, a soft interrogatory sound.

Dom kissed the back of his ear. “Shh.” His arm moved steadily, and Billy sighed and relaxed against him.

They lay like that for a long time; Dom didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and Billy’s whole body felt weighed down, heavy with sleepy pleasure that just wanted to keep coiling through his veins, spiraling slowly out from where Dom’s hand was wrapped around the center of it, stroking him rhythmically, relentlessly. Dom’s breathing was deep and steady; every once in awhile he kissed Billy’s ear, his neck, his shoulder—slow, random kisses laid upon his skin.

Billy sighed again; shifted slightly, pushing his hips into Dom’s grip. That felt good, so he did it again a moment later. Dom kissed his neck, and Billy could feel the nudge of Dom’s erection against the back of his thigh. Billy tried to say _Do you want to_ , meaning, _do you want to fuck me (again)_ , an offer, but it came out as a mumble of tangled vowels, mostly.

“I’m fine,” Dom murmured into his ear. “Just want this.”

Billy made a low noise—gratitude, acknowledgment—and pushed his hips forward again, a slow, hitching thrust in counterpoint to Dom’s hand.

“You feel so good,” Dom whispered. He shifted, pulling Billy toward him. Billy let his body fall back so he was supine, Dom lying along his side. Dom leaned over him, getting a better grip. “Love having you in my hand,” Dom breathed into his ear; he stroked him a little faster, slick twist of his palm over the sensitive head of Billy’s cock. “Or in my mouth.” Dom bent his head, his lips against Billy’s shoulder. “Everywhere.” He bit Billy gently.

Billy moaned softly, felt the pleasure tightening, focusing. His hips pressed up in small, stuttering thrusts as Dom’s mouth shifted, slid to his neck to suck and lick there. “Bill,” Dom murmured. “Want you so bad.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, or tried to say; his fingers curled weakly into the sheet as his breath hitched, as his thighs went heavy and tight and everything crested abruptly; his chin tipped back as he gasped and came.

Dom’s hand kept moving, tight, sweet strokes that drew the rolling pleasure out. He crooned encouragement into Billy’s ear, a murmurous hum of satisfaction grounding him.

Billy sank back, panting a little. Dom’s hand gentled and stilled, but he didn’t pull it away. Billy sighed deeply and blinked his eyes open, looking blankly at the ceiling and then turning his head to look at Dom. “Hey,” he said, more breath than sound.

“Hmm,” Dom said. There was a smile somewhere in the corner of his mouth; his face was unguarded, open. “Hey.”

“What about you?” Billy said, his voice still sleep-rough, soft. It felt like they were the only two people on earth, wrapped up in darkness and quiet and each other.

Dom kissed his neck. “Think I’m gonna jerk off,” he replied in a husky voice.

“Mm.” Billy shifted, began to turn toward Dom; Dom let go of his cock—sticky and softening—and Billy kissed him. “You should come on me.”

“Oh,” Dom murmured to this invitation. “That sounds… yeah.”

Billy shifted his hips back, giving Dom room; lay curled close, though, head bent to watch Dom, already pulling at his cock in a quick rhythm. He lay quiet for a while, then said, “You look good doing that.” Dom’s eyes were closed, brow furrowed slightly, lips parted. “Love your hands.” He saw Dom’s hips twitch forward, saw his long fingers tighten minutely. “Yeah, that’s it,” Billy crooned. “Gorgeous.” He ran one hand down Dom’s arm—lean lines, muscles flexing—and laid his fingers lightly around Dom’s, feeling the way they squeezed and tugged his cock, rigid and hot, the slick sound of it. “Sticky,” Billy breathed, “wet with my come, Dom.”

Dom gasped, body jerking forward, and Billy looked up, saw Dom’s eyes shut tightly, mouth open as though in pain. “That’s it, my Dommeh,” Billy murmured intently, wriggling closer, “are you going to come for me? Come on me?” He looked down again and it happened—Dom jerked and came, hoarse groan on his lips as his hips shoved forward, small spurt onto Billy’s thigh, caught in the sparse hair, sliding down the curve of it as Dom shivered to a halt, trembling all over.

“Come here, then,” Billy whispered, gathering him in. “Love how you feel it so much, c’mere, c’mere.” He held Dom close and reached down to pull the duvet over them.

“M’okay,” Dom mumbled, but he let Billy wrap him up, breath steadying, body getting heavier as he relaxed. “I got you messy,” he said at last.

“Ach, not too much.” Billy tucked Dom’s head against his shoulder. “Pretty certain we’ll have to shower tomorrow anyway.”

Dom sniffed and yawned. “Think the neighbors might complain?”

Billy huffed a laugh, blinking into the darkness. “If they didn’t complain about the noise earlier, I don’t think they’ll complain about the smell tomorrow.” His hand wandered up and down Dom’s back.

“I dunno,” Dom said. “Maybe they’re really old, and they can’t hear. Might still be able to smell.”

“The upstairs neighbor is a very nice family called Hamadani,” Billy said, “and they can hear just fine, but luckily they’re ridiculously polite.” He blushed a little, thinking about how loud he’d been earlier in the day.

“You just won’t be able to look them in the eye for a while,” Dom said. Billy could hear his smirk.

“That’s true enough,” Billy said. “Thank god their children are babies.” He patted Dom’s bum. “Anyway, it’s not like you were oh-so-quiet yourself, mister.”

Dom lifted one shoulder. “But I have no shame.”

“Also true enough,” Billy said. They lay quiet for a while.

“Who was the first person you ever kissed?” Dom asked into the darkness, head heavy against Billy’s shoulder.

Billy had been drifting off again. “Eh? Mmm.” He thought. “I kissed a girl when I was eight. Maryann McElroy.”

“That’s too cute,” Dom said. “What about a boy?”

“No, now you have to tell me your first kiss,” Billy said. He liked the way Dom felt, lying half atop him, warm and solid. Dom was quiet for a minute. “Well? Come on, ‘fess up.”

“I was thinking,” Dom said. “Okay. I used to chase everyone around and kiss them on the playground.”

Billy smirked to himself. “You were shameless even then.”

“I was,” Dom agreed. “Fickle, too—I’d kiss anyone. Especially if you gave me money.”

“You didn’t,” Billy laughed.

“I most certainly did,” Dom said. “There was a whole week where kids brought money to school and dared me to kiss people and I’d do it.”

Billy’s hand slid up Dom’s back to tangle in his fine hair. “How much did you make?”

“I don’t remember,” Dom said. “It was when we lived in Germany, so it would have been in Marks, anyway.” He turned his head, pressing into Billy’s hand. “Feels good.”

Billy scritched Dom’s scalp. “When did you live in Germany?”

“Mmmmm. Most of when I was kid,” Dom said. “My dad was a teacher there for a long time.”

“Do you speak German?”

“ _Jawohl_ ,” Dom said. “Although it’s getting harder. I don’t get to practice much.”

Billy murmured understanding. “When did you have your first real kiss?”

“What do you mean? Those school yard kisses were very real, I’ll have you know.”

He tugged Dom’s hair. “You know what I mean. The kind that made you sweat and go stupid.”

Dom laughed against his chest. “Oh, that kind of kiss.” He made a considering sound. “Fourteen—that was the first time I kissed a boy, and it definitely made me sweaty and stupid.”

Billy laughed. “That’s the one, then—the one that counts.”

“Right, it was the summer we came back from Germany, actually, and—oh. His name was William.”

“You had good taste even then,” Billy said. “Shift over a little, I need to move my arm, it’s falling asleep.” They moved around, ending up less entangled but still facing one another. Billy did feel a little sticky, a little messy, but he wasn’t willing to get out of bed. It could wait.

“Now you have to tell me the first kiss that made you sweaty and stupid,” Dom said. His face was as tranquil as Billy had ever seen it—sleepy, lips curved in a half-smile.

“Mine was a girl, when I was fifteen,” he said. “And then when I was seventeen there was a boy, James. I haven’t thought of him in years.” He thought about him for a moment, a gangly teenager, dark hair and freckles, taller—practically everyone was taller than him, then, and most now—and about how nerve-racking the whole thing had been. “Terrifying.”

“Mm, yeah.” Dom took Billy’s hand and began playing with it, massaging it. “So do you like women as well as men?”

Billy shrugged with one shoulder. “A bit. Mostly blokes though. What about you?”

“I’ve messed about with girls, some,” Dom said. “But men are better. I like the sex better, for one. With girls it’s okay, but I hardly ever see a girl who makes me sweaty and stupid. And I’ve never met a girl who could nail me the way I like it.” He grinned at Billy, a gleam of teeth in the dark, and Billy laughed quietly.

“You do seem to enjoy yourself.” He squeezed Dom’s fingers lightly.

They lay quiet for a long time; Dom was just holding Billy’s hand, running his thumb across his knuckles in a slow, repetitive motion. Billy’s eyes closed, his body heavy and lax. He thought about Dom, how full of motion he usually was, his alertness and physicality, contrasted with the way he surrendered and slowed, stilled, when they had sex. Then he thought about how open Dom seemed, and yet how private he kept his university classes, how separate from himself at work.

“Why’d you decide to study environmental science?” he asked.

“Mm?” Dom sounded half-asleep. Billy opened his eyes, saw Dom blink his eyes open, too, and gather his thoughts. “I think because I love being outdoors,” Dom replied. He frowned slightly. “No, that’s not all of it.” Billy could see him considering; he waited.

Dom’s voice was slower when he spoke again—lower, more intimate. “When I was a kid, we lived at the edge of Frankfurt, and I’d go wandering around away from the flats where we lived all the time. There was a little wood, then fields, then more trees, and I was always out there, poking sticks into the water, climbing trees, whatever.”

“That sounds nice.” Billy watched Dom. He’d got used to looking at him laughing or talking or intent, the silly faces he pulled, bright and mobile and animated. He’d rarely seen him as contemplative as this, though; wholly at ease and unguarded.

“It was.” Dom shifted a little closer. “Just behind our building, in the wood, there was this brook— _bach_ , did you know that means brook, like beck, in German?” Billy shook his head. “It does. So there was this little _bach_ , and the banks and water were always full of rubbish, litter. I cleaned it up—just the little section that I thought of as mine. Took a bin bag and my winter gloves and picked everything up. Ruined my gloves, my mum was furious.” He grinned, remembering, then his face quieted again. “But whenever I went back there’d be something else there—sweet wrappers, or soda cups, or cigarette butts. So I kept doing it—not with my gloves. When I cleaned it up it was so pretty, and you could sit there for hours and just watch things—bugs and spiders, sometimes squirrels, and twice I saw foxes.” He smiled, and Billy did, too, watching. “So I would go most afternoons, and after the weekends I’d clean it up again, and I remember thinking, _this is ridiculous, we’re not leaving any room for anything else to live_. So.” He blinked and looked away, self-conscious perhaps. “I think that’s why.”

Billy nodded, and squeezed Dom’s hand. “It must be hard being in London,” Billy said. “Not much outdoors, here.”

“It’s not too bad,” Dom said. “I run, and I usually run from one park to the next to the next. On the weekends I stop just to sit on the grass, sit under a tree, whatever. So.” He shrugged. “Not bad. Winter is harder, though,” he added.

“It is,” Billy agreed. “I didn’t know you ran.”

“I do it before work most days,” Dom said. He made a self-deprecating face. “I have to exercise, it uses up my energy.”

“You do have a lot of energy.” Billy smiled, and Dom did, too.

“What about you?” Dom said. “Did you always want to work with—computers, stuff like that?”

“Ha, no,” Billy said. “Not even a little bit. I apprenticed at a bookbinder when I got out of school, and that was good for a while, but once I’d learned how it worked, it bored the shite outtae me.” He rolled his eyes. “I thought I’d go spare. I lasted three years on the floor at the bindery, then I made a friend who worked in the front office, and she started to teach me her job, because I was so bored. From there I went to an office at a publisher, but the front desk there was boring after a little while, too.” Dom was grinning at him. “What?”

“You were the Dom of some publishing office, weren’t you?” Dom asked.

Billy laughed, surprised. “I guess I was—in more ways than one. That’s when I started taking classes online to learn the tech side of things,” he explained. “I did the work at home, but otherwise—aye, very similar stories.”

“Bet you never painted your nails at work,” Dom scoffed.

“I did not,” Billy confirmed, smiling. “Any road, once I had the certification, I got hired as the third IT person at the publisher. That’s where David was my boss,” he added.

“To hell with him,” Dom said. “Do you like IT better than binding, or being the beautiful secretary?” He reached up and tucked Billy’s hair behind his ear playfully.

Billy pursed his lips, pondering. “I do like it better,” he said. “It’s always changing, so I don’t get bored—I have to keep up with what’s happening, what’s new, what’s becoming obsolete. But—” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s just a job. It’s not, like, my passion or anything. Not like saving the world.”

“What is?” Dom asked. “What makes you sweaty and stupid?”

Billy reflected; he didn’t say _you do_ , although there was enough truth there that a fleeting twinge of anxiety slid through his mind. He set it aside and pondered. “Music, I suppose,” he said. “I used to want to get famous doing music.”

Dom turned his hand over and touched his fingertips. “These are guitar calluses, aren’t they?”

“Aye,” Billy said. “I still play nearly every night, just for myself.” He didn’t mention the longing he’d been having, lately, to find other musicians. He’d had a group of friends in Glasgow, mates he’d known his whole life, and they’d all played more or less well, though Billy was, he knew, the best of them—it meant most to him, it was something he worked at endlessly in a way his friends didn’t. That hadn’t mattered, though; they’d played together and that was the important thing.

“Did you ever perform?” Dom asked curiously.

Billy nodded. “I did, some friends and I had a band and we played a couple of pubs regularly.”

“You should play here,” Dom said. More hesitantly he said, “You should play for me.”

Billy felt his face warm; he smiled a little helplessly at Dom. “I’d like to,” was all he said. “Tomorrow.”

“Mm.” Dom lifted Billy’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingertips. “Good.”

They fell asleep soon after; Billy’s hand was still curled into Dom’s, and he thought he might still be smiling as he slid into dreams.


	8. CHAPTER WHATEVER I CAN'T REMEMBER ANYMORE

Dom woke up when Billy got up; he heard him say something in a low voice, presumably to one of the cats, and a moment later, the bathroom door shut and Dom heard the shower start up. He lay where he was, still sleepy, drifting. It was warm under the duvet; Dom lifted it for a second and dragged his phone under. It was nearly 11 a.m., and he pushed the phone away and shoved his head back under the covers.

A small weight landed on the bed; one of the cats? He peeked. Yes. The orange cat, and then there was the black cat, too. It (he? she?) had jumped up onto the foot of the bed and was standing there looking at Dom, or at its sibling, the orange cat. The ginger tom saw Dom and came right up to him, obviously expecting to be petted.

Dom rolled to his back and stuck one hand out from under the covers to scritch it behind the ears. “You’re a nice kitty,” he said, and the orange cat purred and walked onto his chest. “And very forward,” he told it, but as it laid down and purred pleasantly some more (vibrating his whole torso), he smiled and kept petting it.

The black cat stayed where it was, although it did deign to sit down, tail wrapping round its feet as it stared—balefully, Dom thought—at its sibling, getting petted by Dom. “I’ll pet you, too,” he offered, but the black cat looked immediately away. “I wasn’t going to, anyway,” Dom said, and sniffed. “This kitty is obviously the good one.” He rubbed the orange cat’s chin and cheeks, and it turned its head into his caress in appreciation.

The shower shut off; a few minutes later Billy padded in, rubbing his hair with a towel and otherwise undressed. “I see Francie’s found you,” he said.

“And the black one is Josie, right?” Dom said, still petting Francie, and not-so-surreptitiously enjoying the view.

“Aye. He’s a tougher sell,” Billy said. “They’re litter mates, they’ve both been spoiled rotten since birth, practically, so I’ve no idea why.” He tossed the towel into a laundry basket and came to pet the black cat, Josie, who allowed it. “Just pickier, I guess.”

Dom rubbed Francie’s cheek; the cat turned its head into the caress, purring thunderously. “Ah, so you’re the slutty one,” he said to it—she? Francie was a girl name, right?

“He is,” Billy agreed, opening drawers and pulling on pants and then a t-shirt. “Are you hungry?”

Dom smirked. “Yes. Come here.”

Billy leaned back against the dresser and grinned at him. “I meant for food, wanker.”

“Oh.” Dom stretched his arms—carefully keeping his body still, so as not to disturb the cat curled on his chest—and relaxed. “Yep. I’m starved. We burnt a lot of calories.”

“That we did.” Billy’s eyes were warm; Dom liked the way they crinkled up when he smiled. Most of Billy’s smile, he’d noticed before, was in his green eyes. He was talking; Dom stopped woolgathering and paid attention. “Go and have a quick shower, then, and I’ll take you round the corner to my favorite breakfast place.”

“Sustenance,” Dom agreed. Then, more plaintively: “Come and move the kitty, I want him to like me still. I don’t want to dump him.”

Billy came and scooped the unresisting orange cat into his arms. “He’d love you even if you toppled him right off you, y’know.” He walked out holding Francie, and Josie, after giving Dom a long and unreadable stare, leapt lightly down and followed them.

“Gonna introduce that one to Bella first,” Dom muttered, and forced himself to sit up and get moving. He was hungry, after all, and not _only_ for Billy.

 

 

…

 

 

They walked to the corner cafe and tucked into a breakfast that was really lunch, then sat for a long time over coffee, talking and people-watching, trading stories, taking turns at winding one another up a bit. As they left, Billy asked if Dom wanted to walk to Whetstone Stray, the park on the other side of the tube station, but Dom glanced at the leaden sky and shivered, hunching his shoulders. “Too cold, let’s go back to yours.”

Billy looked pleased. “Too cold to enjoy it properly,” he agreed. They walked quickly, the biting wind in their faces until they turned onto Billy’s street. “When do you have to be back?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dom said, “anytime this afternoon.”

“Your snake will be all right?” Billy was patting his various pockets to find the keys.

“She’s fine. She only eats every couple of days, and I fed her yesterday.”

They stepped into the warm flat with relief; Billy locked the door behind them and they both began shrugging off their outerwear. Coats and scarves on the hooks behind the door, Dom reached over and pulled off Billy’s knitted cap; his fine hair tried to follow, fair staticky strands standing up like a halo until Dom smoothed it down, grinning.

“My hair gets a bit excited in the winter,” Billy said.

Dom patted it down further, then slid one hand down to cup Billy’s nape. “How about the rest of you?” he asked, drawing him close.

“You should check,” Billy said, smiling, his eyes fluttering closed.

They kissed, coffee-flavoured and sweet, and Dom closed his eyes, sinking into it. There was something about the way Billy kissed him; it made him want to explode in twenty different directions with eagerness, and also made him want to just—sink down with him, fall back and give himself up completely. They stopped to breathe but stayed close, Billy’s hands on Dom’s waist as he ducked his head and laid a light kiss on Dom’s neck.

“Got your energy back?” Billy said against his skin; his hand tugged at the hem of Dom’s jumper and slid beneath, cool fingers against Dom’s side.

Dom’s breath caught. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Can we—would you—” he nosed at Billy’s face until it came up and they kissed again, heat rising between them. “Take me to bed,” Dom said.

Billy did; they undressed each other slowly in the bedroom, kissing and kissing, hands roaming, teasing a little. Billy pressed Dom back onto the bed and lay over him, braced on his elbows as they explored. Dom ran his hands over Billy’s shoulders and back, loving the way his skin felt, the muscles beneath shifting as Billy moved against him; Dom loved the feel of Billy’s arse in his hands, and he cupped and pulled, rocking Billy against himself, sighing into the kisses, feeling desire build.

“Want you inside me,” Dom said into Billy’s ear. “Want you to come inside me.”

Billy shuddered against him and ground down hard for an instant. “I’d like that as well,” was all he said, though, and when he pushed himself up, sitting back on his heels between Dom’s legs, he was smiling.

The mundane tasks of fetching lube and condoms from the bedside table were done, and Billy lay down, pulled Dom to face him and got him ready. There was something tender in his care, in the way he reached between them, pulled Dom’s leg up and open, draped it over his own hip so Dom could relax, lie there and focus on the pleasurable intrusion of Billy’s slippery fingers.

Dom’s eyes kept sinking closed, but he wanted to see, and so he blinked them open again and again to watch: Billy’s downcast glance, the bright fan of his lashes over his barely freckled cheekbones, fine lines at the corners of his eyes, his lips parted as he concentrated. “How’s that?” Billy asked.

Dom pulled him in to kiss him in answer, all that careful sweet preparation sparking, transforming into heat and want and need. Billy kissed him back, fiercely, catching fire with him, it felt; he sat up and got the condom on, then pushed Dom’s legs up and back, opening him.

“Okay?” Billy asked, and Dom just nodded, tugged at him.

Billy looked down and slid inward, a slow tight push that made Dom moan.

“Christ, you feel good,” Billy said, voice low and strained, and began to move. His pace was measured and intent, and he was watching Dom; every time Dom’s eyes opened, Billy was looking at his face, flushed and focused, power kept tightly under rein.

Dom moaned again, clutched at his thighs, pulling them back further, opening himself. He felt the heat of it burning him up. “Want this,” Dom groaned, letting his head fall back, eyes closed as he wrapped his legs around Billy. “Want you in me, oh—”

“Yeah,” Billy said, moving faster, “yes, feels so good inside you.” He leaned down, kissed Dom, came back up. “Touch yourself,” he said, voice harder, and Dom gasped and did it, grabbed his cock and began jerking himself off, quick tight pulls that made his breath stutter. “Christ,” Billy grated again, “you look so good, feel so good.” His hips snapped into Dom again and again.

“Billy—fuck—” Dom stammered. “I’m close—” His cock was so heavy, so hard in his hand, Billy piercing him with every shove into his body. Dom felt his orgasm building, everything tightening, going taut.

Billy’s movements sped, sharp, slapping thrusts that made Dom cry out and clench his teeth, struggle against him, seeking more. “Gonna make you come for me,” Billy grated out, “wanna see that, I need to see you come, Dom—”

Dom groaned and threw his head back, everything going bright hot white as he arched and came, fist clenched around his jerking, spurting cock and Billy relentlessly pounding into him, so the pleasure went on and on and on as Dom cried out and finally went lax.

Billy was holding him up now, still fucking him mercilessly, and Dom opened his eyes, stared up at Billy, red-faced and desperate, close to his own climax. Dom tried to put his arms around Billy, slid his hands down to his arse, muscles flexing with his thrusts. “Want you to come in me,” Dom slurred; his eyes closing as he thought about it, “wish you could just fill me with your come, fuck me and fill me all day,” he mumbled, and Billy’s breath hitched, his rhythm went wild and uneven as he keened and came, holding himself deep within Dom with his hips still pumping in small, stuttering thrusts.

“Fuck,” he panted, slipping down to lie atop Dom. “You may kill me if you say things like that.”

Dom lifted his clean hand and lazily combed through Billy’s damp hair. “Mmmm.” He closed his eyes. “But I need you alive.”

“That so?” Billy mumbled. He was draped over Dom, pleasantly heavy and sweaty.

“Well, who else will get me ties?” Dom asked, squeezing his bottom companionably. “Or paint my fingernails?”

“In that case you may want to dial back the ‘make Billy come so hard he has a stroke’ portion of our friendship,” Billy said into his neck; he shifted and slipped out of Dom, and both of them sighed—then snickered.

“We need another shower,” Dom said after a while. He turned his head to see the clock on the bedside table and noticed that the black cat was sitting on Billy’s dresser, staring right at him. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Dom exclaimed, “did your cat just watch us have sex?”

Billy lifted his head, already laughing, and craned it to see where Dom was looking. “Oh, aye—probably.” He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Get out of here, Dom’s shy,” he said to the cat.

Dom shoved Billy up and off, rolling over to laugh helplessly into the duvet.

He felt Billy sit up and pat his back, still snickering. “There, there, Dom, he won’t tell anyone.”

Dom snorted and turned his head toward Billy. “He’d best not,” he said. “I’ve a reputation, you know.”

Billy frowned down at his lap, where he was removing the condom. “Yes, as a slutty, slutty man,” he replied. He tossed the condom into the bin and smirked at Dom.

“Sex positive,” Dom sniffed. He pushed himself up and clambered off the bed. “I’m just sex positive.” He held out a hand for Billy.

Billy allowed himself to be pulled up, and leaned in to bite Dom’s ear gently. “You certainly are,” he said. “It’s positively lovely.” With a sharp smack to Dom’s arse he turned and headed for the loo. “Give me five minutes in the shower, then you can have your turn,” he said.

Dom shivered a little in the cool air of the flat, hugging himself. “Can’t we both fit?” He knew they couldn’t—Billy’s shower had the same general proportions as an upright coffin of clear glass and plastic—but he said it anyway.

“Nope,” Billy said. “My flat, my shower, me first.” He blew Dom a kiss and ducked into the bathroom.

“I’ll show him,” Dom said to Josie, still eyeing him from the dresser. “I’m going to drink the last beer.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Billy opened the bathroom door to let out the steam and heard Dom talking to someone. It didn’t sound like the mumble of a person speaking to a cat, and Billy leaned out the door, listening.

“No, I’ll definitely be back by then,” Dom said. A pause, then: “That sounds great. I can’t wait!” A brief laugh. “I think he’s done, the shower turned off. Just a tick,” and Dom appeared in the corridor, still buck naked, Billy’s house phone in one hand. “Hey, Bills, all cleaned up?” he leered, offering Billy the phone. “It’s your sister.”

Billy’s eyes went round. “What?” He coughed. “Ehm. Okay.” He took the phone, glaring at Dom, and put it to his ear. “Hey, Margo.”

“Hi, _Bills_ ,” Margaret chirped into his ear. “I was just saying hello to Dom. He _is_ lovely.” She was laughing at him and Billy closed his eyes, wondering if perhaps the earth might open and swallow him whole if he wished for it really hard. “We’re going to have dinner with him and his flatmate before I have to head home next week.”

“ _Are_ we?” Billy asked, opening his eyes to squint at Dom, who was leaning against the wall, smirking like a—like some kind of a smirking thing. “That should be fun.”

“I think so,” she said, and Billy could hear her smirking, too, and he wondered what he’d done in a past life to deserve this. “The reason I called was to give you my arrival information,” she added, and then she was off, chattering out the time and the track she’d debark at, and Billy ducked back into the bathroom and wrote them both in the slowly dispersing fog on the mirror. “So I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she said, “can’t wait.”

“Me, too,” Billy replied, still off-balance, and she blew him a kiss over the line, laughed at him again, and hung up.

He thumbed the phone off and came out of the loo. “So you talked to my sister?” he said. Dom looked like he was attempting to be nonchalant, but there was also a wicked gleam in his eye and he was trying, Billy thought, not to explode into gleeful giggles. “You’re such a shit,” Billy said, tossing him the phone.

Dom caught it and backed away into the kitchen to hang it up again before he popped back out. “She was very nice,” he said. “Also she said she’d tell me embarrassing stories about you.” And now he was grinning full out.

“Go shower,” Billy said, rolling his eyes and heading into his room to get dressed.

 

 

…

 

 

It was nearly three when Dom emerged from the shower and then Billy’s bedroom, clean and dressed; Billy was sitting on the sofa with his guitar, football muted on the television. “Oooh, music time!” Dom said, and flopped expectantly down on the floor at Billy’s feet.

Billy set the guitar aside. “I was just noodling about,” he said, gesturing to the window to distract Dom. “It’s snowing.”

It worked; Dom jumped up again and went to the window. “Nice,” he said appreciatively, and Billy privately agreed, looking at Dom plastered to the window; it was a lovely view, and he felt a twinge of… anxiety, perhaps? At how much he liked the view, liked Dom, liked having Dom bounce all about his flat. Billy would have thought he’d be a bit tired by this point in the weekend, ready for Dom to go home, ready to have his privacy back, his quiet.

But he wasn’t, and that made him nervous, though not nervous enough to hint him away. When Dom turned back and said, “Play me something Christmassy?” Billy could only nod, feeling his cheeks heat, and reach for the guitar.

“Here’s a good one to get you into the real spirit of holiday,” he said seriously, and launched into [_Father Christmas_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2X0JzlO8SM), by the Kinks. Dom laughed and sang along in a gravelly baritone on the chorus.

“You’re really good,” Dom said admiringly as Billy finished. “How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was in school,” he said, “I had a teacher who started a music club, he got me started.”

“Do you do regular carols, too?” Dom asked. He’d come to sit on the floor, leaning back against the sofa; his head was tipped back, turned up toward Billy.

“Sometimes,” Billy said, strumming a little. “But they get so much play. I like finding oddities, songs no one’s heard of.” He didn’t tell Dom he wrote songs; somehow he wasn’t ready for that conversation.

“What’s your favorite oddity for Christmas?” Dom asked.

Billy looked down at the guitar. “I like this one,” he said, modulating, getting into a new key for a few bars and then singing quietly:

 

_It’s the season of grace coming out of the void_   
_Where a man is saved by a voice in the distance._   
_It’s the season of possible miracle cures_   
_Where hope is currency and death is not_   
_The last unknown;_   
_Where time begins to fade, and age_   
_Is welcome home._

_It’s the season of eyes meeting over the noise_   
_And holding fast with sharp realization._   
_It’s the season of cold, making warmth a divine intervention;_   
_You are safe here, you know._

 

He fumbled, suddenly remembering the words of the chorus, and strummed blindly for a minute or two. “Can’t remember the rest,” he said, smiling, lame. “Not done working this one up.”

Dom’s face was soft. “It’s gorgeous. What is it?”

Billy strummed, played a couple of open chords and then a falling string of notes to end on a soft discordant minor. “It’s called [_The Atheist Christmas Carol_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E20PpEsU3oE), by a singer named Vienna Teng,” he said.

“I’m going to have to look it up,” Dom said.

Billy wondered if Dom might figure out why he’d flubbed the chorus. “This is a good one,” he said, and launched into [The Barbary Coasters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6ZkMLB-n4A). Dom listened, grinning appreciatively and laughing aloud when Billy got to “sim- sim- simian’s the way it’s gotta be.”

When it was done Billy kept playing, noodling, as he thought of it, picking out various melodies. “What’s your favorite Christmas oddity?” he asked Dom, pausing. “A non-carol.”

Dom leaned his head back against the sofa; Billy ran his fingers through his fine hair, still slightly damp from the shower. “Mm, that feels good,” Dom said, sighing, eyes closing. “I like that Pretenders one, I think it’s called [_2,000 Miles_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SkWIqQ3oLY)?”

“I know it,” Billy said. “It has a great guitar line.” He played it, a repetitive, bell-like progression, and sang, Dom joining in softly where he remembered the words:

 

_He’s gone 2,000 miles,_   
_It’s very far._   
_The snow is falling down,_   
_Gets colder day by day;_   
_I miss you._   
_The children will sing:_   
_He’ll be back at Christmastime._

_In these frozen and silent nights_   
_Sometimes in a dream_   
_You appear._   
_Outside under the purple sky_   
_Diamonds in the snow_   
_Sparkle._   
_Our hearts were singing;_   
_It felt like Christmastime._

_Two thousand miles_   
_Is very far through the snow;_   
_I’ll think of you_   
_Wherever you go._   
_He’s gone 2,000 miles;_   
_It’s very far._   
_The snow is falling down,_   
_Gets colder day by day;_   
_I miss you._   
_I can hear people singing,_   
_It must be Christmastime._   
_I hear people singing—_   
_It must be Christmastime._

 

“Love that one,” Dom says. “My mum adores the Pretenders; I had such a crush on Chrissie Hynde.”

“Who didn’t?” Billy asked, smiling. He flicked out one more soft chord and set the guitar aside, then slid to the floor to sit by Dom. They leant back against the sofa, legs outstretched beneath the coffee table—strewn with the detritus of their weekend, mostly empty beer bottles and chips packets—and looked out the window. The day was already fading; from their position on the floor, all Billy could see were white flakes falling against the grey sky, and the bare branches of a few spindly trees, already dusted with snow. He shivered, glad to be in his warm flat.

Dom looked out the window with him; absently picked up Billy’s hand and rubbed it, just as he’d done last night. “Talented hands,” he said, looking down at them and smiling, and Billy felt warm all over. He laced his fingers through Dom’s and squeezed for a second.

“Not bad yourself,” he said, then lightly added, “I like your rings and bangles.” He did; Dom’s hands were beautiful—narrow and strong, long-fingered and usually, as now, decked in rings and bracelets and cuffs.

Dom looked critically at their enlaced hands. “They’re not bad. Need nail varnish.”

Billy let his head fall back against the sofa and smiled. “I’m sure Margaret will help you out, if you wait till next week.”

“Ooh, that would be lovely,” he said. “We should sic her on Lij, he’s terrible to his nails.” They sat quiet, and after a while Dom sighed. “I should get back,” he said. “I need to do a wash, and you probably need to get ready for Margaret to get here.” He didn’t move, though, except to keep rubbing his thumb over Billy’s palm.

“No hurry on my account,” Billy said. The desire to say, _Stay another night_ rose up so strongly his breath caught in his throat.

Dom didn’t seem to notice; he just sighed again. “I hate to go now,” he said, “just when everything is feeling so cosy.” He let go Billy’s hand with a last press of his fingers, though, and pulled himself up. Billy scrambled to follow. “But speaking of my mum, she’d murder me if I showed up with a backpack with one change of clothes, and that needing washing.” His lips quirked up at the corner.

“With good reason,” Billy agreed, pasting on a smile. Dom began collecting his things, and Billy tidied the lounge—it wasn’t too awful, really—and then walked Dom to the door.

“I’ll be back early Thursday,” Dom said, standing at the door in his coat and hat; Billy wanted to undress him, maybe drag him to bed one more time, but he just nodded. Dom cocked his head. “C’mere,” he said, and Billy went; Dom kissed him. It was gentle; a kiss that knew more about Billy than it might have two days ago.

Billy kissed him back, soft breath and darkness behind his eyelids as his body swayed into Dom’s.

Dom pulled back after a long, sweet time. “Christ,” he murmured.

Billy huffed a laugh and opened his eyes. “I think that’s my line,” he said, and kissed the corner of Dom’s mouth. “Go on with you, I’ll see you in a few days,” he said.

Dom bit his lip, grinned. He opened the door and stepped out into the early evening; Billy shivered as the cold washed over him, the familiar scent of snow in the city. “Happy Christmas,” Dom said.

“Happy Christmas,” Billy replied. “Safe travels.”

“They will be.” Dom looked out at the evening, and then back at Billy for a moment. He tossed a jaunty wave toward him and set off down the pavement.

Billy closed the door, curling his toes into the carpet to warm them. He looked down at Francie, then at Josie, who had slipped out from behind the television cabinet and come to sit at his feet. “On our own again, lads,” he said, and locked the door, turning back to his suddenly very quiet flat.


	9. CHAPTERS ARE AN ARTIFICIAL CONSTRUCT ANYWAY

Dom’s phone chimed as his train slowed through Stoke-on-Trent. He fumbled it out of his pocket; a text from Billy.

 _Margo arrived. Already terrified the cats and taken over the kitchen. Send help_.

Dom grinned and thumbed the phone to mute before replying. _This is karma’s revenge for the ties. No help available, try whisky_.

 _She’s between me and the whisky. I’m cowering in the lounge_.

 _Go ask if she needs help_.

 _You’re a terrible friend_ , Billy replied.

 _If you offer to help you’ll be closer to the whisky_.

Dom watched as the three little bubbles that meant Billy was typing appeared, vanished, appeared again. He opened a game and played it while he waited for a response.

The reply came a few minutes later: _It worked! She went to the loo while I stirred something and I’ve got the whisky. Now to sneak it out_.

 _Put it down your trousers_ , Dom suggested.

_No room. As you should know_

_Lol_

_She’s coming back! I’m going to make Francie a wee collar harness to hold the whisky and smuggle it out to me._

_Like a St Bernard_ , Dom said. He glanced up; no one was watching him snicker like an idiot as he texted.

 _Yes_ , Billy replied. _Wish me luck_

 _Luck_ , Dom sent, smiling to himself.

 

 

…

 

 

Christmas with the family was… fine. It was always fine—his parents loved him, he and his brother tolerated one another, and Dom took every opportunity to run about outside with his nephews while the daylight lasted. There’d been snow all the way north, but it wasn’t sticking; the sky remained heavy, but the temperature wasn’t quite cold enough to make anything but slush. When the boys’ noses and cheeks got too red with cold, Dom herded them back inside and they made cocoa. They watched whatever horrible Christmas special was on the telly, and then cut out paper snowflakes, littering the dining room table with scraps of paper.

It was all very homey, and Dom was glad to see everyone, but he kept thinking about Billy—he would think of something hilarious to say about the current seasonal abomination on television, and then remember that Billy was in London, and doubtless busy with his his sister and not thinking about Dom at all.

At four, though, his phone chimed again, and it turned out Billy was thinking of him, at least enough to text him.

 _Margo has made four dozen cookies_ , Billy sent. There was a picture of Billy’s kitchen worktop looking like a cooking programme had met a messy death atop it, and another picture of Josie’s head peeping over the rim of the dining table, which had what looked like infinite numbers of cookies lined up on it.

 _They look good_ , Dom replied.

 _For lunch we had cookie dough_ , Billy sent back, _and then for pudding we had to test some of the cookies_

_How are they?_

_Good I think_ , Billy said. The bubbles appeared, then: _I’m not sure because_ _I’m stuck in a venn diagram where one circle is Sugar High, one circle is Nausea, and one circle is I’ve Had So Much Sugar I’m Hallucinating_

Dom laughed aloud. His mum stuck her head out of the kitchen to look inquiringly at him; he waved a hand, the universal sign for “Just one of those weird online things.” She withdrew, though he could hear her humming to herself. He thought about his reply to Billy, then typed, _Shame I’m not there to give you something to do with the sugar high_

 _Tease_ , Billy shot back.

 _I have not yet begun to tease_ , Dom said. He suddenly remembered he hadn’t given Billy a gift—he’d been so focused on Miranda’s present that he hadn’t thought to get Billy anything. He pondered, waiting for Billy’s reply.

 _Don’t make me start picking out ties for next year’s present_ , Billy replied.

Dom snorted to himself. _I look good in blue_

 _My sheets are blue_ , Billy replied.

Dom cocked his head at the phone. All right then. He hadn’t been expecting that. He held his phone out at arm’s length and took a selfie of his surprised face, one eyebrow raised as high as he could get it, and sent it to Billy. _They weren’t blue yesterday._

A long pause—Dom chewed on his lip and waited.

A selfie from Billy: just his face, looking expectantly up at the camera from his bed, and pointing to the blue striped pillowcase beside his ear.

Dom grinned. Another message from Billy appeared: _I had to change them. The Hamadani family complained about the smell_.

Dom laughed out loud again.

“Is that Orlando or Elijah?” Dom’s mum Doreen asked, poking her head in again.

“Hmm?” He looked up. “Oh, neither, it’s a friend from work.” A very good friend.

 _Thank god you had clean sheets,_ he sent. _I have to go, my mum is starting to wonder why I’m laughing at my phone_

_Margo’s given up on me. Or she’s hallucinating from the sugar too. Could be either_

_Happy Christmas_ , Dom said.

Doreen sniffed thoughtfully. “I hope Elijah is okay by himself for Christmas,” she said, leaning in the doorway, hands cupped around her tea. “I worry about him.”

_Happy Christmas_

Dom pushed his phone away and used his hands to sweep the paper scraps into a small heap in front of him. “He’s working, he’ll be okay,” he said. “He’s off New Year’s and we’re going to spend it together.”

“That’s good,” Doreen replied. “Who’s your new work friend?”

The perils of working in one place for three years, and talking too much to his mum and dad: they knew all the people Dom worked with.

“It’s Billy, the IT chap I told you about,” Dom said. “Remember the email I sent you of the funny medical tweets? He sent that to me.”

“Ah, I liked that,” Doreen said comfortably. She looked shrewdly at him. “Is he cute?”

Dom felt the urge to stab himself with the scissors he’d used on the snowflakes, but valiantly resisted. “Yes, he’s cute,” he mumbled, although cute wasn’t quite the word, Dom thought.

“Hmm,” was all she said, though; she nodded and went back into the kitchen, humming again.

Dom remembered that there was a lock on the door of the office, where he’d be sleeping that night, and plotted.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Billy had given Margaret his bedroom after a cleaning spree which involved not only the bed linens but the bedside table, which was significantly empty of lube and condoms by the time he was finished. She’d demurred, but he’d insisted she take the room; she’d been up at 4 a.m. to make her train, and at 9:30 p.m. she excused herself and went to bed yawning.

Billy was already stretched out in his makeshift bed on the sofa, Kindle book in hand and the flat dark and quiet around him, when his phone pinged with a new message at nearly 11 p.m.

 _Check your email_ , Dom had sent.

Billy muted his phone and frowned down at the screen before thumbing to the email app on his phone, where he checked his personal email. There was a message from Dom; the subject was “NSFW” and there was a link to a cloud storage account.

 _Are you spamming me?_ Billy texted back.

 _Nope. Happy Christmas from one friend to another_ , Dom replied.

Brow still furrowed, Billy went back to his email and tapped the link, then the file, which opened in his phone’s video player.

It was Dom, slouched back on a ratty dark green sofa wearing only his pants… and a Santa hat, tilted rakishly to one side, the pom pom bobbing near one ear. The room looked like a home office or storage room; there were bookshelves behind him, and the walls were pure 1970s paneled wood. There was a stack of blankets and pillows beside him; Billy guessed that Dom would be sleeping on a sofa tonight, just as Billy was.

Billy slid down the settee and pulled the duvet over his head so he could watch without worrying about Margaret coming in and seeing something unfortunate.

The recorded Dom grinned at the camera—his phone, he must have set his phone up on a coffee table or chair, facing the sofa—and gave a little wave. His lips moved, and Billy scrolled back and turned the volume up just enough to hear Dom say, “Happy holidays, Bills.”

And then the Dom on screen began jerking off.

He went slow; slouched back with his knees set apart, he began rubbing and tugging at his cock through the soft blue boxer briefs he was wearing. His face was pink, but his expression never showed embarrassment; his eyes were heavy-lidded, and they flicked to the camera, then down at his hand, to the camera, down, again and again.

He reached into his pants—his knuckles outlined briefly against the cotton as he wrapped his hand around his cock to pull it up and adjust it—and Billy swallowed and turned onto his side, facing the back of the sofa, completely cocooned in the duvet.

Dom’s hand came out of his pants and he began rubbing himself again, still through the cloth; his cock was outlined against the soft fabric, a ridge along the junction of hip and thigh. Dom ran his hand over it, up and down, gripping through the material. His head fell back against the sofa, the silly red and white hat tipping further down his forehead; his eyes closed even as his lips parted softly.

Billy was motionless, paralysed with want, his cock tight and heavy between his thighs as he lay on his side. He reached down to adjust himself; left his hand there, absent pressure as he watched Dom continue stroking himself.

“Fuck,” Dom whispered; Billy could read his lips, see the way his brow furrowed. Dom reached into his pants and pulled his cock out; it was hard and flushed dark. Billy swallowed again, imagining licking away the beads of precome that might well up just at the tip. Dom pushed his pants lower, stroked himself a few times; frowned and maneuvered so he could take them all the way off—back and hips arched up for an instant as he shoved them down. His eyes flicked to where the door must surely be, then he relaxed again, settling onto the sofa naked and pushing the hat back.

“That’s better,” Dom murmured, and lay his head back against the sofa, eyes closed, legs splayed, hand moving with intent, now: fast, tight movement. He slowed every once in while; pressed his cock against his thigh and just rubbed over it, or reached down to cup and rub his balls, heavy and full between his thighs. He bit his lip; licked his lips once or twice, shifted and pressed his hips up into his hand, ran his free hand over his chest and belly. And all the while, he was stroking himself steadily.

He lifted his head and looked at the camera; his eyes were barely open, hot and wanting, lips parted as he began to jerk himself harder, faster. His cheeks and chest were ruddy; his eyes flickered to his hand, silver glint of rings and long fingers wrapped tight around his cock in relentless rhythm, then came back to the camera. “Bill,” he mouthed. “Wish you were here doing this.”

Billy turned the volume up, and scrolled back so he could hear Dom’s whispered words; he huddled deeper into the covers. Christ, he was hard as a rock; he could feel his pulse in his cock, and thudding in his throat.

Dom, meanwhile, had given up talking; his head fell back again and his thighs moved in  small, jittery thrusts up into his hand, now slapping up and down almost frantically. Dom’s mouth was open, eyes tightly shut; he suddenly came, breathing going ragged with soft, barely audible gasps. His cock spurted, sticky white onto his belly and hand.

Billy held his breath, listening desperately to Dom’s uneven inhales, eyes fixed on the small phone screen and Dom’s splayed, lax body. Dom’s right hand was still moving with tiny, stuttering motions, until even that ceased and he just lay still, eyes closed.

A few seconds later he lifted his head, smiled wickedly at the camera and said, very low, “Happy Christmas.” He reached for the phone and everything swung wildly for a moment, then the recording ended abruptly.

Billy sucked in a long breath, exhaled, and opened his text app. _You’re a terrible friend_ , he sent to Dom.

 _I’m an amazing friend_ , Dom shot back immediately.

 _I’m sleeping on my sofa, Margo’s in my room, and I don’t even want to get up and go to the toilet because I’ve a stonker that can’t be disguised_ , Billy typed. _Terrible friend._

_Lol_

Billy scowled at the phone. _Laugh it up, wanker. I’ll get you back_

 _I knew you would_ , Dom wrote. _I’m counting on you being a good friend too_

Billy sighed, reached down again and adjusted himself. _I’m going to have to risk going to the loo,_ he typed.

 _Did you like the Santa hat?_ Dom texted.

Billy couldn’t help but grin. _I did. That was my favorite part_

 _THAT was your favorite part?_ Dom replied.

Billy snickered to himself. _It added a certain festive air. Go to bed, I’m going to the loo to have one off._

 _Facetime me_ , Dom sent. _Let me watch_

Billy’s whole body flushed with heat. _Not a chance_ , he replied. _Margaret’s asleep the next room over_

_I won’t talk. You don’t have to talk_

Billy clutched his phone in one sweaty hand and poked his head out from under the covers. The flat was dark and quiet, no sound from the bedroom. He made it to the bathroom in a few hurried steps (boxers tented ridiculously); closed and locked the door and flicked on the light. It was glaring, too bright, and he looked down at the phone in his hand, considering.

 _No talking_ , he sent to Dom finally, making sure the volume was turned all the way down. He hit the button for Facetime and propped the phone up on the sink, leaning it back against the cup that held his toothbrush; standing against the opposite wall he could see his image on the screen, from head to thighs.

Dom picked up immediately, his face appearing on the screen; Billy’s picture diminished to a square in the lower right corner. Billy picked the phone up so Dom would see his face and held a finger to his lips to signal that Dom had to be silent.

Dom grinned and nodded, the tip of his tongue sticking out; it looked like he was lying down on the same ratty couch as in the video link he’d sent, a battered pillow behind his head, no shirt on.

Billy set the phone down again and leaned back against the wall, feeling suddenly idiotic as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and pushed down his boxers. Was he really going to do this? On Christmas Eve, with a man he’d known for all of four months? He glanced at the phone; Dom smiled encouragingly and gave him a thumbs up. Billy rolled his eyes at him and stepped back against the wall so Dom could see almost all of him.

He thought of Dom’s video, and of the way he’d stammered Billy’s name when Billy was fucking him just yesterday. He knew that he _was_ going to do this—jerk off and let Dom watch, both of them furtive and horny as teenagers, apparently, reckless and stupid and wanting.

He let his head rest against the wall; fought down the urge to laugh or flee. He closed his eyes and began pulling at his cock; he was still half-hard, with the memory of Dom’s recording and of their times in bed, and more immediately with the knowledge that Dom was watching, watching him stroke himself. He hardened further with that thought, cock heavy in his hand as he worked himself with tight, rough pulls, thinking of Dom’s sleepy eyes, dark and quiet, of his intensity and surrender and unashamed desire.

Billy’s balls were tight, orgasm hovering just out of reach in a startlingly short time; his mouth was open, silently gasping already. His hand moved fast and in the darkness behind his eyelids he imagined that Dom was _right there_ watching, kneeling at his feet. Dom loved sucking cock, and it made Billy crazy, the way he would swallow him hard and fast, then slow and look up at Billy, cheeks hollowed as he sucked.

Billy thought about that, thought of jerking off and then shoving into Dom’s hot, wet mouth, coming on his tongue and lips, come spilling over Dom’s chin as his tongue came out and lapped it up—Billy was coming, struggling not to moan, holding his breath as he shuddered and fucked his fist, wet warm sliding over his knuckles as he came to a trembling halt.

He stayed where he was, draped back against the wall, cool tile clammy against his shoulder blades as he panted and recovered.

He blinked his eyes open and reached for the phone. Dom’s face was serious, watchful, but his expression softened as Billy brought the phone up. One corner of Dom’s mouth curled into a crooked smile, and he pursed his lips, blowing a kiss to Billy.

Billy smiled back and nodded, then hung up.

He cleaned up, dressed again and slipped back down the hall to the lounge, crawling into his cocoon.

 _You’re a bad influence_ , he sent to Dom.

 _I try_ , Dom replied a moment later.

Billy smiled to himself, sleepy and warm. _I’ve never done that before_ , he typed. _How was it?_

 _No Santa hat_ , Dom said. _Otherwise exceptional work_

_Next time I’ll add some glitter, maybe a Christmas ornament or two_

_Lol_. A long pause, then: _It’s nearly Christmas. Better go to sleep or Father Christmas won’t bring any presents_

Billy yawned. _You’re right. Happy Christmas Dom_

_Happy Christmas Bills_

Billy dozed off with the phone under his pillow. The last thing he thought before sleep overtook him was, _I’m saving that link_.


	10. CHOOSE YOUR OWN CHAPTER NUMBER

Back in London, plans were made to meet up with Billy and Margaret for dinner on Thursday, as promised. Dom was shocked with how many things he’d wanted to tell Billy while they were apart; a dozen times, two dozen times over Christmas and Boxing days, he’d thought of a story or comment he wanted to share with Billy. Was that a result of friendship? Sex? Both?

Dom didn’t want to think about it too much.

He just wanted to keep having Billy nearby whenever possible, so he could tell the stories, make the comments, and hear Billy’s responses, his stories, his comments. And also, Dom admitted to himself, he wanted to keep having sex with Billy. A lot of sex, as much as humanly possible, as much as Billy would let him—let them. (Dom shied away from that thought, though.)

So, dinner.

Embarrassing stories Margaret told Dom—and Elijah, who came along as well—about Billy: Four. (Dom’s favorite was that Billy as a baby had crawled to the cat’s food dish and eaten several pieces of cat food before his mum had seen him. There was great potential there for future piss-taking, as well as gag gifts along the lines of cat treats and so on. Dom was considering the merits of collars and bells.)

Times Dom wanted to sink through the floor and vanish: One. (Billy had never said anything to Dom about his parents, so Dom had assumed they were estranged or perhaps had passed away, but he hadn’t known they’d died when Billy was so young, and he hadn’t known Billy and Margaret were mostly raised by their gran. He didn’t know why, but he felt like a complete heel when it came up naturally in conversation and the siblings explained everything matter-of-factly. Dom thought of his own occasional whinging about his family to Billy and felt, briefly, as though he wanted to run away.)

Times Dom wished everyone other than Billy would sink through the floor and vanish: Twenty. Or a hundred. Or a thousand. (Dom wanted to kiss Billy breathless, but Billy was obviously uncomfortable with Dom’s exuberant affection in front of Margaret—considering that he’d nearly toppled over when Dom leapt on him for a hug upon seeing him—and so Dom dialled it back and only _thought_ about dragging Billy into the toilet for a brief blowjob, instead of actually doing it. But it was difficult, and even though Dom loved Elijah and liked Margaret just fine, he wished them both to the other side of the planet whenever Billy did something that made Dom want to shag him—like talking, or taking a bite of food or sip of wine, or laughing.)

Times Dom ignored Billy’s discomfort and kissed him anyway: One. (They’d left the restaurant, were standing around on the street before Billy and Margaret went back to Whetstone and Dom and Elijah walked back to their flat. Elijah and Margaret were talking—something about hospitals, or medicine—and Dom pulled Billy aside to hug him farewell. He pressed his face into Billy’s neck and shivered; Billy’s arms came up hesitantly to hug him back, and Dom lifted his head and kissed Billy’s mouth, tentative at first, wanting, the almost-familiar-now flush of heat and desire warming him as he closed his eyes and went for it: kissed Billy for all he was worth. Billy was still for a moment and then he opened to it, relaxed into Dom and kissed him back.)

Times Billy surprised Dom: Two. (The first was when they’d all met up; Billy had been nervous and shy; he’d hugged Dom stiffly at the beginning of the evening, and it had thrown Dom completely off for a minute, till he realized Billy was shy of kissing Dom in front of his sister. The second surprise came after that end-of-the-evening kiss; Billy hugged him tight and said into his ear, “Margo’s headed home tomorrow morning. You should come see me this weekend.” And Dom nodded and murmured back “Text me, I’ll come anytime,” and meant it. He’d thought maybe he and Billy had spent too much time together—he wasn’t tired of Billy, didn’t think he could be, but he’d thought maybe Billy’s reserve had meant there would be less spending-the-night. So: surprise.)

 

 

…

 

 

Dom showed up at Billy’s flat Friday night, backpack over his shoulder, and stayed until Sunday. It was an odd mixture of domesticity and sex. Billy was doing a wash when Dom got there, every linen in the house in some stage of washing or drying; denied the stripped-bare bed at first, there was a blowjob in the kitchen, another in the hallway; Dom re-enacted his Christmas video on Billy’s sofa (there were added Christmas carols and there was definite mis-use of tinsel) and Billy climbed atop him and jerked off straddling his thighs, coming onto Dom’s belly, his come mixing with Dom’s, Dom’s eyes glinting at him as he pulled him down for a gasping kiss just after he came.

With clean linens on the bed (“You do look good in blue,” Billy murmured, spreading Dom out, fucking him slowly) and leftover Christmas cookies for sustenance between meals, the rest of the weekend slid by easily. They ignored one another sometimes, sitting in comfortable quiet—read their books, surfed the internet lying on the sofa. Billy sat at one end with his bare feet on the coffee table, Kindle propped on the arm of the sofa; Dom stretched out with his head on the other arm of the sofa and his feet in Billy’s lap, laptop on his thighs.

Dom cooked for Billy.

“You’re a good cook,” Billy said, surprised, and Dom grinned and raised his glass of wine at Billy.

“I worked as a sous chef for a summer,” Dom said. “I like cooking.”

Sunday morning he went for a run around Billy’s neighborhood, then back toward the Tube station, past it into Whetstone Stray. The weather was misty and cold, his skin hot, and it felt good to run again, sweat under his clothes, blinking mist and drizzle out of his eyes. Most of all it felt good to let his head empty of thought. Running was like meditation, Dom thought. When he ran his mind quieted; he existed mostly as a vacancy, an absence, every thought ephemeral, none remembered later.

He came back to Billy’s flat ruddy with the cold and his exercise, and two men really _couldn’t_ fit into Billy’s tiny shower cubicle, but Billy crowded in anyway, kissed Dom’s skin as the salt and sweat washed away, reached down and jerked him off, fast and tender and heated, deft hand wrapped around Dom as he kissed him and kissed him until Dom stiffened in his arms and came with a soft, low sound. Billy turned Dom around under the water, so it beat down on his front and cleaned him, and Billy kissed his shoulder from behind and stepped out of the shower—a wash of cool air and when Dom looked, blinking water out of his eyes, there was Billy on the other side of the foggy, water-speckled glass, smiling at him a little, pulling a towel from the rack and drying himself before he left the loo with a cheerful wave.

“New Year’s Eve tomorrow,” Billy said when Dom wandered into the lounge. Billy was sitting tailor-fashion on the sofa, wearing a soft, worn pair of trackies and a long-sleeved t-shirt; he had his guitar in his lap, head bent over the instrument, fingers wandering the strings.

Dom nodded and climbed onto the other end of the sofa, careful not to jostle the guitar. “I wish I could stay,” he said. “But Lij—I think he’s getting a little lonely, with Orli still out of town.”

Billy nodded. “What’re you two doing?”

“Probably go down the pub for a while—you should come,” Dom said.

Billy pursed his lips. “Well, I do have all these clean clothes.”

“Come spend the night with me,” Dom said. He stretched out one leg, tapped Billy’s guitar with his toes. “We can get drunk and snog at midnight.”

“We did that last night,” Billy said.

Dom grinned. “And the night before,” he replied. “Third time’s the charm?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Doubtless.”

“Plus you can kiss Lij at midnight, too. He’s a terrible kisser,” Dom added.

Billy made a face. “I didn’t need to know that. And I’ll leave the Elijah-kissing to you, thanks.”

“Nah,” Dom said easily. “We kissed once on a bet, and I doubt he’s ever got over me.” He grinned at Billy.

“I could do,” Billy said. “Leave extra food for the boys.”

“Just Francie,” Dom said. “Josie will kill and eat small children for sustenance.” He and Josie had an uneasy detente; they glared narrow-eyed at one another, often while Dom ostentatiously petted Francie, who—slut that he was—rolled over and let Dom rub his belly as the black cat watched disdainfully.

“You know he understands you,” Billy said mildly. “He’s going to kill and eat _you_ one of these days.”

“I’m much bigger than him,” Dom said.

Billy glanced up at him. “He’s much meaner, though.”

“Hmm,” Dom said. “Possibly true.” He slid onto the floor and knee-walked his way to Billy. “Hey.”

Billy looked at him over the guitar, eyebrows raised. “Can I help you?”

Dom put his hands on Billy’s knees. “Think I should be asking you that,” he said, and gently lifted the guitar out of Billy’s lap, setting it aside. “You got out of the shower before I could help you out, after all.”

“I’m okay,” Billy said, but he didn’t resist as Dom knelt before him and maneuvered him; unfolded his legs and then tugged down the soft trousers, pulled at his hips until Billy was half-lying on the sofa, half-sitting.

Dom leaned down and licked over his quiescent cock. “I feel like I owe you one.” He ducked his head, breathed hot and damp over Billy’s balls. “Don’t want to start the new year with debts, you know.”

“Well,” Billy said, a little breathless already—Dom felt a surge of pleasure, that he could read Billy, that Billy could read him, could know how much Dom wanted to do this. “Well,” Billy said again, “wouldn’t want you to end the year on a bad note… oh.” Dom closed his eyes and began to suck Billy in earnest.

He loved this, loved how Billy began to come apart, lose himself in the hot wet pressure of Dom’s mouth. He loved how Billy tasted, the weight of his cock as it swelled and stiffened against his tongue, within the circle of his lips; the silky slide of the foreskin and the taut, tender skin of the head, the salt-tang taste of pre-come. Dom ran his hands up Billy’s thighs, rubbed his thumbs down the ticklish crease between Billy’s hip and thigh and murmured amusement around Billy’s cock as Billy leapt and cursed, laughter shading into a moan. Dom shifted down, used his shoulders to muscle Billy’s thighs wider, take Billy’s cock deeper into his mouth, groaning pleasure as Billy’s hands lit on his head, tangled in his hair.

Dom slid up and off for a moment, hand taking over the steady stroking of Billy’s cock. “You can pull my hair,” he said, and ducked down, nuzzling and kissing below his cock, placing light, sucking kisses to his balls.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Billy said softly, running his fingers over Dom’s head, curving down to touch his ear, cheek.

Dom kissed the base of his cock and looked up at him. “I like it,” he said. He dropped his eyes again; let them sink closed as he sucked and kissed Billy’s shaft. “I like it when you grab my hair, use your hands to tell me what you want.” His cheeks were hot, but he didn’t care, he didn’t—he _wanted_ Billy to pull his hair, hold his head and fuck his mouth, shove into his throat, choke him and use him and arch hard and helpless into Dom’s mouth.

Billy touched his cheek again, ran a finger over Dom’s eyebrows: one, then the other. “Do you know how hot you make me?” he murmured.

Dom sighed. “I want everything you can give me,” he said, the only words he had in answer. “Give it all to me, Bill.” He lifted Billy’s cock back into his mouth, began sucking again, slowly, wet and hot and tight, and then faster, more, his hand still close around the base, squeezing rhythmically as he sucked him.

He felt Billy’s hands in his hair, hesitant then more certain, tugging. Dom hummed assent, want, and Billy’s hands tightened. His hips began shuddering up in small, careful thrusts, but Dom wanted Billy to lose control—Billy made Dom lose control every time, gave him _so much_ , and Dom needed to give some of that back. So Dom pushed his head into Billy’s hands, groaned, sucked him hard and fast and sloppy, hand on Billy’s balls, trying to drive him crazy, drive him—

 _Yes_ , finally. Billy’s hands trembled and then fisted in Dom’s hair, his hips thrusting up, harsh little sounds spiraling up, words spilling over and fracturing: “Fuck, god, _yes_ , Christ, take it, take it, take it, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Billy was chanting, gasping, and then he came, everything clenched and pushing, body arched as he came into Dom’s mouth.

Dom hummed happily, sucked hard and took it, swallowed and swallowed as Billy panted and finally fell back. Dom let him go—let his cock slide out of his mouth and leaned down to chase one last errant drop. Billy petted Dom’s hair, apologetic, and Dom sighed with pleasure and laid his head on Billy’s thigh.

They stayed that way for long moments, Billy’s hands wandering through Dom’s hair, over his face; Dom was utterly content to be where he was.

“I think now I owe you,” Billy said after a while.

“Mmm.” Dom kissed his leg. “I bet you’ll think of some way to even things out.” He shifted back and Billy leaned down to pull his trousers back up, arching to get them over his bum before he collapsed back onto the sofa.

“I’ll apply myself,” Billy promised, looking sleepy and mussed and delicious.

Dom wondered if Elijah would really miss him if he stayed one more night. Yes, probably he would, he’d sounded positively morose last time they’d texted, and Dom knew he needed to be home to check on Bella, too. He sighed again. “I should get out of here,” he said, but instead he scooted back in and draped himself over Billy’s lap again.

Billy ran his fingers through Dom’s hair. “If you must,” he said lightly, and they stayed that way for a long time, quiet in Billy’s quiet flat, far away from the rest of the world.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Billy got a text from Dom later that night. _Come over around 4 tomorrow?_

 _See you then_ , Billy sent. _Say hi to Elijah_

Billy wandered around the flat cleaning, unable to settle himself. It felt too quiet without someone else there—Margo, twitting him and teasing him; Dom, doing the same thing but in a completely different way.

Billy sighed. Margaret had quizzed him mercilessly about Dom, and liked him immensely when she finally met him at dinner. Billy insisted—to her, to himself—that he and Dom were just mates, friends having a casual fling. But she had deadly aim with an eyebrow, and the look she gave him when he tried to assert that he and Dom were merely good friends had been withering at best.

“So you’re open to dating someone else?” she’d said, and Billy had opened his mouth, but nothing came out. And when she added, “Or Dom dating someone else?” the rush of panicky rage he’d felt had honestly floored him. Margo had kept that eyebrow pointed at him, and Billy had mumbled something and turned away, changing the subject.

All weekend he’d wondered if he should say something to Dom. But what? _Hey I know we said this was just casual but_ — or _I’m a little freaked out by how easy this is and_ — or _Pardon me but I seem to be falling in love with you so_ —

And it _was_ more than just casual, and it _was_ weirdly easy, and Billy knew, somewhere below conscious thought, that there was no “I seem to be falling;” it was more like “I’ve already fallen hard.” Some part of him thought he _could_ probably just say all that to Dom, because he thought Dom would understand—because Dom understood everything, spoken and unspoken—but goddammit, Billy wasn’t ready. He just. Wasn’t.

Somewhere in the back of his mind was David, and the lies, and the slow unraveling of a relationship he’d thought was, well, not perfect, but at least real, solid. And later had come the depressing realisation that it hadn’t been real or solid for a long time, perhaps even from the start. Billy had pushed, and David had allowed it, and they’d ended up with a two-bedroom flat and two cats, and then: deceit and mistrust, wreckage, petty meanness and hurt that had taken months to crawl out of. He’d sworn he wouldn’t make the same mistakes, but then there was Dom.

(Billy knew, too, that Dom wasn’t David, not by a long mile or any other measure.)

So, what to do? He didn’t want to stop seeing Dom, sleeping with Dom, spending time with Dom. And he didn’t want to push—wouldn’t let himself. So he tried to set it aside, tried to enjoy their time and not worry about the future. Dom showed no desire to date other people, and Billy knew he wouldn’t do so without telling Billy, at the least.

Everything was easier when Dom was with him, and what the hell did that mean? Billy didn’t know, so he cleaned the flat, went to the shops, played around on his guitar, watched television, read books; in short, he did everything he’d normally do, and underneath it all, anxiety battled with secret, sneaking happiness and made life both easier and more difficult.


	11. CHAPTER ELEVENTY-ONE

Dom opened the door when Billy showed up the next afternoon. “Bill’s here,” he called over his shoulder, and pulled Billy in. He glanced back again, then said low to Billy, “We have seriously got to get him trollied tonight, he’s been cheerful as a wet mop.”

Billy blinked, a little startled, and let Dom wrestle him out of his coat. The weather was cold but dry; the sun was already on its way down and the pubs and restaurants Billy had passed between the Tube station and Dom’s flat had been putting out decorations—ribbons and streamers. It shouldn’t be difficult to find someplace to get Elijah drunk.

“Lij,” Dom yelled again. “Come entertain Billy, I’m going to shower.” He smirked at Billy, kissed him quickly. “Rather entertain you in the shower, but—” he rolled his eyes— “manners. Or some shite.”

“Go clean up, you manky git,” Billy said, pushing Dom gently away as Elijah came into the room.

“Hey, Billy,” Elijah said. “How’re you?” He did look tired: face pale, shadows under his eyes despite his friendly expression.

“Good, but I heard I’ll be better soon,” Billy said.

Elijah raised one eyebrow. “Oh yeah, how’s that?”

“I heard I’m here to kick your arse at Grand Theft Auto.”

The eyebrow came down, and Elijah grinned. “Dom been telling lies again? All right, let’s go.”

 

 

…

 

 

“Mission accomplished,” Billy shouted into Dom’s ear several hours later. “I think Elijah’s drunk.”

Dom leaned close, grinned and nodded. Elijah was currently onstage at the karaoke bar they’d ended up in, belting out a Eurythmics song as though channeling Annie Lennox. “We’re going to have to carry him home,” Dom replied, speaking right into Billy’s ear. “Hopefully he’ll pass out when we do, so we can tuck him in and then lock my bedroom door.”

Billy manfully resisted the urge to drag Dom to the toilet and shag him then and there; it was difficult, because (a) Billy was a bit trousered himself, (b) Dom kept pressing against him, and (c) Dom had dressed up for the evening. The combination of painted nails, leather cuffs, silver rings, and eyeliner he was currently sporting had Billy wanting to fuck him in an ally—or in the loo, or on the damn stage for all Billy cared, to hell with Elijah and his barely-post-adolescent angst. He’d been resisting Dom for well over six hours now, midnight having come and gone with only a brief kiss and grope, and Billy thought he might die if he didn’t get to peel Dom’s clothes off soon, lay him out (or stand him up, whatever) and shove into him hard and fast and perfect.

All he said, though, was “Good thing he’s small,” and Dom nodded and looked back at the stage.

It was a good thing, too—Elijah was small but apparently made of lead-filled rubber. He’d sung twice and then stumbled off-stage, grinning and waving to his clapping fans (other pissed-as-a-newt Londoners) before draping himself heavily over Dom and Billy. “I’m hungry,” he shouted at them, and Dom and Billy exchanged a look, a shrug, and pushed their way outside, dragging Elijah with them.

“Aw, Billy, you’ll miss your turn,” Elijah said belatedly, “din’t you sign up t’sing again later?”

“It’s fine, mate,” Billy said, patting his shoulder. “You’re hungry?”

Elijah wobbled a little. “Yeah, I think so.” The street was still busy, but nothing like an hour ago, when everyone had crowded outside to count down together. “Y’know what I want?”

“What?” Dom asked, one hand curling around Elijah’s bicep to keep him from walking bang into a post box.

“What?” Elijah said.

Dom threw Billy an exasperated look; Billy snickered and looked around for a cab as they came to a halt on the kerb.

“What do you want, Elijah?” Dom asked. “To eat?”

“Oh, I’m hungry!” Elijah said. Dom looked as though he wanted to shove Elijah into the Thames. “I want some of that Greek stuff. Y’know? Y’know? That—with the meat, and the thingy.” Elijah waved one hand.

“We’re going to have to take the Tube,” Billy said. “Unless you want to call for an Uber.”

“Take them a million years just to get here,” Dom said. “The trains are running all night, we can do that.”

They looked at Elijah, swaying slightly between them. “I think he wants a gyro,” Billy said. “We should be able to find something on the way.”

“He’ll probably forget about it,” Dom said, and began leading them down the street to the nearest station.

“But now he’s said it, I’m a little hungry, too,” Billy said plaintively.

Dom rolled his eyes. “Fine, just keep your eyes open for something on the way.”

There was a Greek place in the Underground station, but unfortunately the acquiring of food didn’t go as planned; Elijah beamed when Billy pointed the take-away window to him, but as they stood at the end of the line, he turned a positively ghastly shade of green. It was only Dom’s quick action that got him to a rubbish bin in time to heave up—well, everything, Billy could only imagine, looking away and making a face; certainly large quantities of alcohol in what had once been a variety of startling colours.

The bin over which Elijah was currently hanging was far enough from the queue that Billy didn’t think they’d put any other late-night revelers off their food, but his own momentary desire to eat was well and truly vanquished. He kept his back turned a little, shielding Elijah from passers-by as best he could, and waited. Dom darted away for some napkins, which he handed to Elijah when the lad straightened up, still faintly green, but still on his feet, at least.

“Let’s get you home, shall we?” Dom said, and they led an unresisting Elijah down the escalators and onto the train back to the flat. Dom bought a bottle of water at a vending machine along the way, which Elijah used to rinse out his mouth without a word, spitting water onto the tracks and then drinking some.

“Sorry, guys,” Elijah said once they were on the train, leaning his head back against the cool window. “That was gross.” The train wasn’t crowded, and either that or Elijah’s pallor had kept the seats around them free.

“Oh, that was nothing,” Billy said. “You made it to the bin, didn’t you? It’s fine.” He patted Elijah’s knee; looked into his face—head still tipped back, eyes closed and face drawn—and put his arm around the American’s thin shoulders. “Here, get comfy,” Billy said. He smiled across Elijah at Dom, who rolled his eyes and smiled back. Elijah slumped sideways against him.

“What’s the most pickled you’ve ever been?” Dom asked Billy.

Billy thought about it. “I think that honour may have come when I was nineteen,” he said. “My mates and I went out on the town—no reason, it was a Tuesday or something—and we drank _sooo_ much beer. I shared a flat with two of the fellas from the bindery and we ended up by sitting in front of the building drinking about, oh I dunno, a thousand beers, mebbe, between us. So of course we run outtae beer, finally, and then m’mate Georgie, he says ‘my ma’s got some really choice liquor, and I kin get intae the cupboard and get it, she’ll never know, she doesnae drink it ever.’” Billy could hear his accent thickening but couldn’t be arsed to give a damn; the story was keeping Elijah distracted and helping pass their time on the train.

“So Georgie goes up the stairs and comes back doon wi’ a bottle of brandy—like, the real stuff,” Billy looked earnestly at Dom, who was staring at him, grinning, and even Elijah was listening, although he was still slouched against Billy and rocking with the train’s motion. “I think she must hae got it at her wedding or something, it was that nice, and here’s Georgie, ready to give it away. And did I stop him?” He gazed expectantly at Dom. Dom lifted an eyebrow, shook his head cautiously _no_. “No, I did not,” Billy affirmed. “I sat there like a numptie and when the bottle came roond t’me I took my drink. And let me tell you, lads, you dinnae want to go having a drop of liquor after you’ve had two thousand beers—all will not be will wi’ ye, I’m here to tell you.” He shook his head solemnly.

“What happened?” Elijah asked from under his chin. When had Elijah snuggled so cosily into him?

Billy sniffed. “Well, let’s just say, that was the day I ruined not only my shoes, but three other people’s shoes, and leave it at that.” He lifted his chin. “T’ this day I cannae stand the scent or taste of brandy. Disgusting stuff. Ach, I was sick for a week.” He shuddered.

“You seem fine with beer,” Dom said, lips quirked up at one corner.

“Had I been faithful to beer that night, I’d have those trainers today,” Billy said. He squeezed Elijah’s shoulder. “Is this the drunkest you’ve ever been?”

Elijah’s head wagged against him; Billy couldn’t tell if he was nodding or shaking his head. “In med school we used to get drunk and then go sneak into the supplies and hook ourselves up with some saline,” he said.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Dom asked.

Elijah sat up, still wobbly. “So you know, when you’re hungover, it’s mostly because you get dehydrated, right?”

Dom shrugged. “If you say so.”

“It is,” Elijah said. “So, we’d give each other a bag of saline to rehydrate, then take a couple of ibuprofen and sleep it off. Magic! No hangover.”

“You should get some of that and bring it back to the flat,” Dom said. “Be handy for Orli.”

Elijah shook his head. “Nope, can’t do it here. Can’t get it outta the hospital, and even if I could, he’s afraid of needles.”

“Wait,” Dom said as the train blew into their station, “you gave each other this stuff through a needle?”

“Yes,” Elijah said—Billy stood and hauled him up by main force— “it’s an IV. Intravenous,” he explained. “Works better because you don’t piss it all away so quickly.”

“Fuck that,” Dom said with certainty, and helped Billy get Elijah out of the train car and up the steps of the station. They were two blocks from Dom and Elijah’s flat.

They made it, but by the time they got off the lift and through the door, Elijah was looking green again. “I’ll be in here,” he said, staggering off down the hall, and Dom and Billy watched him stumble into the loo, wincing simultaneously as they heard him retch again.

“Happy New Year!” Dom said, wearing a rueful grin. “Aren’t you just thrilled to be here with me, right this very minute?” He cocked an eyebrow at Billy as they both took off their outerwear.

Billy reached for him. “Well, the sweet sounds of Elijah hurling up everything he’s eaten for a week aren’t all that sexy, I admit,” he said, pulling Dom into a loose hug, “but yeah, this is good. Hanging out with friends is very good.”

Dom put his arms around Billy’s waist. “Awww, you’re such a marshmallow.”

Billy made a face. “A marshmallow?”

“You know.” Dom snickered into his neck. “Soft and sweet.”

“No food metaphors while that soundtrack is playing,” Billy instructed him. He let his head rest on Dom’s shoulder. “We’re going to have to make sure he gets to bed all right, you know.”

“I know,” Dom said. He sighed. “I had big plans for you tonight.”

“Mm. Yeah?” Billy shivered a little. “The feeling is mutual.”

Dom ran his hands over Billy’s back, down onto his arse, which he squeezed. “I like these jeans,” he said.

Billy pulled back to look at him. “I like your eyeliner,” he said. “And those rings. And the cuffs. I wanted to drag you into an alley and fuck you.”

Dom’s mouth dropped open for a second; he shut it with a snap and smirked at Billy. “Good to know.”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Billy said. There was a muffled thud from the loo. They both looked away down the hall. “Speaking of which.”

“I swear to Christ, he’d better live through the night and into a truly wretched hangover,” Dom said. He pulled away with a pat to Billy’s bum and headed down the hallway toward Elijah.

 

 

…

 

 

Eventually they did get Elijah to bed, tucked in and sleeping on his side with a pillow wedged behind him to keep him that way, water and aspirins on the bedside table waiting, rubbish bin close by. It was nearly three a.m. by then, and Dom and Billy had lived through Elijah being homesick (“I miss driving, you guys, do you know how long it’s been since I drove a fucking car? On the right side of the road? Fuck this whole country”), maudlin (“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say that, I love this place. I love London, I love all the people here. I love you guys so much”), and lonely (“God, I’m the worst, I’m goin’ to bed so you can have some privacy—do you think I’ll ever meet someone? There was this nurse but he already has a boyfriend”).

Dom and Billy left the door to Elijah’s room open and crawled into Dom’s bed together; they were too tired to do more than kiss for a minute before falling asleep. Billy drifted off with Dom’s smoke-scented hair in his face, one arm thrown over his warm, solid body.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Dom woke up to Billy, shaking his shoulder gingerly. “Dom. Dom.”

He whined and twitched away, burrowing into the covers. “Fuck off, ‘m sleeping.”

“Orlando’s on the phone,” Billy said, and flicked Dom’s ear. “Wake up, wanker.”

“Fucking poncy fucking…” Dom cleared his throat; stuck one hand up in the air and waited until he felt the phone slap into his palm. “Thanks, Bill.”

Billy flicked his ear again. “You’re welcome. There’s coffee.”

Dom made a noise—acknowledgment—and kept his eyes firmly closed as he rasped into the phone: “What the hell d’you want, pillock?”

“Hey, Dom,” Orlando said, sounding far too cheery, “I’m coming home this afternoon and bringing a couple of friends, just wanted to let you know.”

Dom grunted. “You could have texted,” he said. “You could have emailed. You could have called fucking Elijah.”

“Elijah’s not answering his phone, and you weren’t answering my texts, and it’s past noon—I’ll be home in about an hour and I wanted to give you some warning.”

“Bloody hell,” Dom moaned. “Orliiiiii.”

“Listen, listen,” Orlando went on. “I talked to Billy, he said you could come stay with him while Sam and Kate stay, and,” his voice went sneaky and quiet, “I think Lij and Sam might really hit it off, he’s into mixing music and stuff like Lij,” Orli nattered on and Dom sighed and listened to the headache beating in his temples for a while instead of to Orlando.

“Orlando,” he broke in. “Orli. Shut it.”

Orlando did.

“Okay,” Dom said, sighing deeply. “It’s fine. But you better stop somewhere and have lunch first, because Elijah got completely tanked last night, and no one in their right mind would want anything to do with him right this minute, so give me ‘n’ Billy a chance to get him cleaned up a little.”

“Sterling,” Orlando exclaimed; Dom winced and held the phone away from his ear.

“Gotta go,” he said loudly, and hung up mid-enthuse.

Dom lay in bed for another moment or three. “Mother _fucker,_ ” he finally groaned with feeling, and struggled out from under the duvet, emerging, blinking, into the half-finished day.

He stopped in the loo first, then wandered into the lounge, scratching his belly and generally feeling like a dog’s breakfast. “Billy?” At least his breath was minty fresh.

“In here,” Billy said. He was in the kitchen, wearing one of Dom’s t-shirts and a pair of boxers, poking at a gluey mass in a pot. “I tried to make porridge but then I forgot about it and fell asleep on the sofa for a minute and it burnt.” He looked pathetically at Dom. “And I’m hungry.”

Dom laughed. “Poor starving Bill.” He opened a drawer and pointed in at the thirty or so take-away menus. “Let’s order something. We’re going to need our strength.”

Billy looked expectantly at him.

“Apparently Orli’s playing matchmaker, and one of the people he’s bringing home is meant for Elijah,” Dom said.

“Ehm.” Billy scratched his head. “Not sure Elijah’s going to be at his most charming today.”

“I know,” Dom said in resounding agreement. “So I told Orli to stall, and said we’d get Lij cleaned up a little before they get here.” He shifted, looked down, looked back up at Billy. “Orli said you’d invited me to stay while his friends are here.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Billy said. It was his turn to look down. “Unless you’d rather be here,” he added. “We’re back to work tomorrow, so I’d understand if—”

“No, it sounds good,” Dom blurted out. Billy looked up, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “It sounds good,” Dom repeated, more quietly. “I may have to use your laundry room.”

“What’re friends for?” Billy said.

Dom shuffled closer. “I’ll trade laundry facilities for cooking,” he offered.

“That sounds good,” Billy said, and slid his hands around Dom’s waist. “You already brush your teeth?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Dom breathed, and they kissed, standing in the kitchen—burnt porridge on the cooktop, bare feet on the floor. He sighed and squeezed Billy. “Why don’t you call for some food—something greasy—and I’ll shove Lij into the shower.”

“Get the aspirin out of his room, I need it,” Billy said, stepping away and pulling a handful of menus from the drawer. “Please,” he added belatedly.

“Hope there’s enough for you after me and Lij,” Dom said, and set out to drag his flatmate out of bed and into something resembling civilisation.

 

 

~*~

 

 

It turned out that Elijah would not only _not_ go gently into that dark night, he would also not go gently into an afternoon shower with a raging hangover. It finally took Dom _and_ Billy both carrying him into the bathroom, turning the shower on and shoving him inside (fully clothed, hissing and spitting in a way which was eerily reminiscent, to Billy, of the way Josie behaved when forced to take medicine) to get Elijah cleaned up.

Billy ducked hastily out to fetch the aspirins when Elijah, glaring as though he would murder them both with the power of his mind alone, began to strip off his sodden clothing, still standing under the spray.

The food arrived just as Elijah emerged from his bedroom, clean—or at least thoroughly wetted down and then dried—and dressed. Billy paid the delivery boy and doled the food out onto plates, then carried everything into the lounge.

“I hate you both,” Elijah said a few minutes later, hunched over and still shoveling food into his mouth.

Dom rolled his eyes and slapped him on the head. “You’re welcome for cleaning you up and giving you medication and feeding you lunch,” he said. Elijah growled and focused on his food; Billy tried not to laugh.

“Orli’s bringing home company,” Dom said. “He’ll be here any minute.” Elijah nodded. “I’m going to Bill’s for a while,” Dom added. “You can farm my room out, but tell whoever it is not to bother Bella. I fed her today, she won’t need anything more until Thursday or Friday.”

Elijah nodded again, mouth still full.

“Who’s Orlando bringing home?” Billy asked, leaning back and propping his bare feet on the coffee table beside his empty dish.

Dom shot him a glance. “Two or three people. Someone named Kate, someone named Sam. Not sure who else.” He poked Elijah’s thigh. “He said Sam likes music, DJing, stuff like that.”

“Hm,” Elijah said.

“Might be nice if you knew someone else who liked that shite,” Dom said, and reached out to poke Elijah again.

Elijah slapped his hand away. “I get it,” he said. “Thanks for making me shower.” A minute later he patted Dom’s knee. Dom scritched his hair and they went back to eating.

“Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters,” Billy abruptly began singing at the top of his lungs. Dom set aside his plate and launched himself at Billy, who carried on singing through screeching and snorts of laughter as Dom violently tickled him.

He only stopped after breathlessly squeaking out “when a certain gentleman arrived from Rome, Dom wore the dress, and Lij stayed home,” possibly because that was when Dom dragged him out of the chair and sat on his chest, clamping one hand over his mouth as the other hovered threateningly near Billy’s armpit.

The front door opened; Orlando came in with two people hard on his heels. “Hey guys,” Orli said, “This is…” His voice trailed off and he put his hands on his hips, looking down at Dom and Billy on the floor, Elijah looking rather more like a muppet than normal, his hair having dried in a fashion which might charitably be called “tousled.”

Orlando rolled his eyes, then began pointing to people. “That’s Elijah, that’s Dom, that’s Billy under him. Guys, this is Kate, this is Sam.” A petite brunette and a curious-looking fellow with brown hair peeked around him.

“We’ll be right back,” Dom said, pushing himself to his feet, one hand planted unnecessarily hard into Billy’s diaphragm for leverage.

Billy grunted and kicked his ankle in retaliation, then staggered up as best he could. “Nice to meetcha,” he said, and followed Dom into his bedroom. Dom began throwing clothes into a duffle. Billy wandered to his nightstand and opened it, poking through the detritus there and tossing a box of condoms and some lube at Dom. “I’m getting low,” he said with a grin.

Dom stuffed the items into a rucksack with his phone and toiletries. “I’m serious about using your washer,” Dom said, forcing a pair of running shoes into the larger duffle and struggling to zip the whole thing up. “I think everything in here is dirty.”

Billy sat on the bed and pulled on his socks and shoes. “If it wasn’t before, you putting your trainers on top would make sure of it,” he said mildly. “When do you start back to school?”

Dom got the duffle closed and looked around blankly, as though trying to predict what he might need. “The fourth,” he said, then focused on Billy. “Do you think I’ll still be—would it be okay if I was still at your place then? Should I bring my laptop?”

Billy looked down. Would it be okay? “Yeah, of course,” he said to his laces, feeling ridiculous and shy and pleased that Dom might even want to stay so long. “It would be fine.” He glanced up and Dom was looking right back, smiling. “What?” he demanded, face going hot.

“Nothing,” Dom said. “I wonder how long Sam and what’s-her-face are staying.”

“Long enough for us to have a lot of sex in my flat,” Billy said.

“Good thing we have a lot of condoms,” Dom replied. He finished packing and had Billy help change the sheets, then they went out to meet Kate and Sam properly.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Dom knew where Billy’s laundry room was; there’d been the post-Christmas epic laundering that had given them sheets—after a while—and Dom had helped bring everything upstairs. Billy led him down to the room anyway, a dingy little corner of the basement of the building, with four washers and four dryers.

“This is where the magic happens,” Billy said in the exact voice of a fussy housewife. “Now make sure you sort your colors.” Dom tossed his trainers onto the floor and upended his duffle over an open washer. “Ach, what’re you doing, such a numptie.”

Dom grinned over his shoulder at Billy, who leaned against a dryer, smirking at him. “I have my methods,” Dom said.

“Your methods are ridiculous, as are you,” Billy informed Dom. “Also you forgot the washing powder.”

“Mm.” Dom turned and sauntered to him, put his hands on Billy’s waist; slid them down a couple of inches, thumbs pressing lightly into the dip of his hipbones. He swayed forward and let his body rest lightly against Billy’s, breathed gently against Billy’s neck. Neither of them had showered since the day before; Billy’s hair still smelled of cigarette smoke, his cologne faint beneath it. Dom heard his soft inhale, felt the way his body went motionless against Dom’s. “Bill,” Dom said quietly.

“Yes?” Billy replied.

Dom closed his eyes, leaned in a fraction more so his lips were against Billy’s skin. “I want something from you.”

Billy exhaled. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

He smiled against Billy’s neck. “Washing powder.”

There was a pause—several heartbeats. “Fucker,” Billy breathed against his cheek, and then they were both laughing, clutching one another and giggling like loons.

They got the laundry started and made it back upstairs with only occasional shoves and outbursts of snickering; back in the flat they were greeted by Francie and Josie, complaining loudly and trying to lead them into the kitchen. “Yes, you’re starving, I can see that,” Billy said seriously, scooping them out food, “it’s been ever so long since you ran out, puir wee lads.”

Dom hopped up to sit on the worktop, banging his heels gently against the cupboards. “What should we do for dinner?”

“You’re cooking,” Billy said, standing up from where he’d been petting the cats. “Seeing as I’ve loaned you my washer _and_ washing powder. In fact, I think that means you have to cook for me twice.”

“Can I shower first?” Dom asked. “I still reek of cigarettes.” He made a face.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but yes. Please do,” Billy said. He walked over and stood between Dom’s thighs; he slid his arms around Dom’s waist and pressed his nose against his shirt, inhaling. “Whiffy,” he confirmed.

“The shirt’s clean,” Dom protested.

“But the human under it is very dirty.” Billy rubbed his nose back and forth; it tickled, and Dom squeaked and grabbed his head.

“You’re rude,” he declared into Billy’s face, and leaned down to kiss him enthusiastically.

“Hmph,” Billy said, and kissed him back with interest. He pulled back after a moment and laid his cheek against Dom’s chest; Dom petted his hair. “I can’t believe we have to work tomorrow,” Billy complained.

“When will you win the lottery and buy us an island?” Dom asked, scritching the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

Billy shivered under his fingers and huffed a laugh. “When will you save the world and have a grateful populace award us an island?”

Dom hmmed. “First I have to finish this degree, y’see,” he began, but Billy lifted his head and wanted to kiss him again, and Dom decided kissing was much better than talking, when it came to Billy. Or maybe equally good, but available on a more limited basis, and then Dom decided to stop thinking about it and just kiss him.

 

 

…

 

 

Dom showered first, then Billy; while Billy was in the shower, Dom poked around in the kitchen and decided to make them a stew. “We should have enough left for lunch tomorrow,” he told Billy, when he appeared in the kitchen door wearing shorts and nothing else. Dom had already emptied several tins into a pot he’d found, and he was chopping up two rather withered onions and three potatoes to add to the mix. “Where are your spices?”

“Ehm.” Billy opened a cabinet. “I have salt and pepper and garlic powder, I think that’s all,” he said.

Dom slid the last of the potato into the pot and came to look over his shoulder. “I can work with that,” was all he said, looking thoughtfully at the shelf Billy had revealed. “We should stop at the shops tomorrow, though.”

“All right,” Billy said; it sounded rather faint, and Dom turned him around and looked into his eyes.

“Am I being too… much?” Dom asked, anxious.

Billy’s expression was unreadable for a moment; he seemed to be examining Dom’s face. “No,” he said finally, smiling a little. “You’re being exactly the right amount.”

Dom breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “Oh, good.”

Billy’s smile grew. “How long does it need to cook?” he asked.

Dom glanced at the pot. “I need to cover it, then it can cook for anywhere from an hour to two hours—we can eat it any time after an hour.”

“Mm.” Billy kissed Dom hard, hands sliding into his hair. “Wanna do something to pass the time?” he murmured against Dom’s lips. “I was thinking about something you could do for me.”

Dom shivered and bumped his forehead against Billy’s. “Yeah. What do you want me to do?”

Billy kissed his chin, kissed his jaw gently, moved to his earlobe, which he tugged for a moment with his teeth. “Go move your laundry from the washer to the dryer,” he murmured huskily into Dom’s ear.

Dom closed his eyes, reeling with the need to laugh, the need to kiss Billy again, the need to fly in twelve directions with silly glee. He swallowed it, let it sit simmering in his belly, and said gently against Billy’s cheek, “Fucker.”

Billy sagged against him, laughing, and Dom held him up for a minute, then shoved him away with a slap to his arse. “Find the top to that pot,” Dom said, and headed out the door and down to the laundry room, cheerful and horny and delighted to be there again, just then, with Billy.


	12. WHERE WE'RE GOING, WE DON'T NEED CHAPTERS

“Bill?”

“Mm?” It was Thursday night; Billy was sitting on the bed with his guitar in his lap, one headphone in, listening to a song on his phone and pausing every few seconds to play something, scribble something in a notebook, then listen intently again.

“Bill,” Dom turned away from the closet with a hanger and a swath of cloth in his hands. “Is this a kilt?”

Billy looked up over the rims of his glasses. “Yes.” He looked back down, hummed something to himself.

“Bill,” Dom said for the third time.

Billy sighed, set down his pencil, and looked alertly at Dom. “Yes, Dom.”

Dom had a look on his face—a look Billy spent a moment trying to parse. There was glee, and wickedness, and horniness (Billy knew that one very well), and there was disbelief and eagerness and anticipation. “I never knew you had a kilt,” Dom said.

“I have three kilts,” Billy replied. He was looking steadily at Dom, and he reached up and took off his glasses.

Dom bounced over, clutching the hanger and the kilt (Boyd tartan, as a matter of fact), and clambered across the bed to kneel in front of Billy. “Let’s go out tonight. I need to see you in this kilt.”

Billy considered. “We have to work tomorrow.”

Dom sat back on his heels. “We don’t have to stay out late,” he said. “I just really need to see you wear this kilt.”

Billy smirked. “All right, then. We can go out to dinner.”

Dom wriggled slightly in place, glee taking over his expression.

“But,” Billy added, holding up one finger, “you have to wear the eyeliner, and the rings, and the cuffs.”

“Psh,” Dom said. “I would’ve anyway.” He grinned, and Billy grinned back.

 

 

…

 

 

Billy crowded into the loo as Dom was putting on eyeliner. “Is it okay if I wear a different color kilt?” he asked. “It’s cold out, and I have this jumper that goes really well with one of the other kilts—”

Dom—mouth open, eyes wide as he traced a soft line beneath his lashes—just mumbled “Sure, ‘course, any kilt is good.”

Billy stopped and looked at the tangle of leather and silver and makeup products on the sink. “I should have known this is where we’d end up the first time you tried to make me paint your nails,” he said.

“Probably.” Dom finished and turned the pencil in his hands; he began smudging the charcoal-coloured line with the opposite end of the cylinder.

“Are you erasing it?” Billy asked, fascinated and wondering if that was a thing people did—erased their makeup mistakes and started over.

Dom blinked; shifted his gaze in the mirror from his own eyes to Billy. “No.” He stopped and turned to Billy, showing him the little eyeliner pencil. “See, there are two ends—this is the pencil end, and this end is rubbery, so you can make the line thinner, or smudgier, or softer.”

“Huh.” Billy examined it carefully. “Can I try?”

“On me, or on you?” Dom asked.

“On you,” Billy said. “First.” He grinned at Dom.

“Okay, I was just softening the line a little,” Dom said. He sat down on the closed toilet and looked up; Billy timidly used the blunt end of the pencil to smudge the eyeliner from a sharp line of black to a softer, more shadowy streak. It made his already ble eyes look smokier, bluer.

“How’s that?” Billy asked.

Dom stood and looked at himself in the mirror. “S’good,” he said. “Well done.”

Billy smirked and backed out of the tiny loo. “My next career,” he said. “When IT gets dull.”

“When robots take over your job,” Dom corrected him.

“Aye, that’s likely,” Billy agreed, and went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

 

 

~*~

 

 

“Ready?” Billy asked. He was standing in the entry to the lounge, wearing a cable-knit sweater in cream, and a blue-and-green patterned kilt. He wore heavy black boots below, and—Dom knew, he’d asked—nothing else. Not a stitch.

Dom was sprawled on the sofa wearing tight skinny jeans and a plain white v-neck tee with a brown leather waistcoat over it, his leather cuffs, every ring he owned, practically, and no shoes; he was waiting to put them on till they were ready to leave. And eyeliner, of course—plenty of eyeliner.

“Fuck me,” Billy said, “you look good.”

Dom nodded dumbly, silent in the face of Billy’s kilt—the swing of it from his hips, the flash of his bare, hairy legs between the hem of the kilt and the thick black boots. “You, you too,” he finally managed, sitting up. “C’mere.”

Billy came over and stood between his knees. Dom put his hands on Billy’s bare (bare!) calves; slid his hands up over the backs of his knees to his thighs. Further up and oh Jesus fuck, Dom had Billy’s arse in his hands, his bare arse with Dom’s hands cupped over the cheeks, between the heavy fabric and Billy’s skin. “Shite,” Dom breathed, and slid off the sofa—Billy stumbled back a step—to kneel at Billy’s feet. “Let me,” Dom said, and he pushed his whole head under the kilt, kissing Billy’s thighs and seeking his bare, naked, vulnerable (accessible!) cock. There it was, and Dom groaned, sucked Billy into his mouth.

“Christ,” Billy said; he was doing something, fumbling with something somewhere up there outside the kilt, and a weight departed from Dom’s forehead—something which had been pressing down disappeared.

“What’d you do?” Dom mumbled, pulling back for a second.

“Took off my sporran,” Billy said, and Dom hummed and shoved his head further under.

His hands squeezed Billy’s arse as he sucked and licked at Billy’s cock and balls, deliciously, dangerously accessible to the whole world. _Mine_ , Dom thought possessively, and sucked harder.

“Fuck,” Billy muttered, “Dom, fuck, what’re you—oh, god.”

Dom pulled back, struggled out from under the kilt and blinked up at Billy. “I want you to fuck me.”

Billy already looked semi-ravished, or perhaps as if in mid-ravish; flushed and delicious, in any case, and slightly dazed. “Okay,” he said.

Dom reached up and under, squeezed Billy’s cock and then stopped himself; removed his hands from underneath and tugged at his jumper instead. “Take this off, though,” he said, and while Billy did, Dom went to his hands and knees and peered under the sofa for the lube he was pretty sure they’d left in the lounge. Aha!

“Condom?” Billy asked, and Dom cursed and staggered to his feet; dashed into the bedroom and rummaged through the bedside table.

He came back triumphantly, condom held high. “Maybe we should just get tested,” he said, pressing the packet into Billy’s hand.

Billy looked startled for an instant, just before his gaze skittered away. “Wouldn’t have to mess about with these,” he agreed, fiddling with the condom wrapper.

“Might be nice,” Dom said more gently; his movements slowed and he stepped in close, put his arms around Billy’s neck to kiss him.

“Would be nice,” Billy murmured against his lips; he slid his hands under Dom’s shirt to touch his skin. “You feel good everywhere.” Dom kissed him harder, pressed hungrily against him and gave himself up to Billy’s mouth, his hands.

They separated to breathe long moments later. “Take off your shirt?” Billy said, and Dom leaned back, shrugged off the waistcoat and then pulled his shirt off over his head, Billy’s hands helping. “Now these,” Billy said, looking down and unbuttoning Dom’s jeans.

They got them halfway down—tangled around Dom’s knees—before they got distracted again, Dom by Billy’s bare chest, Billy, it seemed, by Dom’s cock, which he gripped and squeezed, pressing Dom back against the sofa. “Fuck,” Dom said, shoving against him, “want you now, Billy, c’mon.”

Everything ratcheted up, heat and want and need, and Billy groaned and turned Dom around. “Get on your knees, on the sofa,” Billy said, his voice strange—half entreaty, half command.

Dom scrambled to obey; he knelt on the sofa, gripping the back of it, his head dropping forward as Billy leaned over him, small hands running over Dom’s body and the rough press of the kilt against his arse, Billy’s hardness all too evident beneath the heavy fabric. Dom heard the little snick of the lube bottle’s opening, then Billy’s fingers, teasing and rubbing at him, slippery and cool. “Hurry up,” Dom said, hoarse and needy, “just get me wet and do it, I don’t need anything—Bill—hurry.”

He heard Billy’s low sound behind him, the sound of the condom wrapper opening. “Fuck me, you look like sin itself, Dommie,” Billy said; more chilly wet lube and then the slow, insistent pressure of Billy’s cock pushing into him, filling and opening him at once, thick and hard, a welcome invasion of his whole body.

Dom panted, struggling to relax; he bent forward to rest his shoulder and cheek against the back of the sofa and reached back with both hands to pull himself open further, desperate and wanting. “Fuck, fuck,” he said, “Billy—tell me. Tell me how it looks—talk to me.”

“You wanna know,” Billy muttered, hands wrapped around Dom’s hips now, “wanna know how it looks, it looks—fuck.” He began moving, hard slapping thrusts that forced Dom open and made his whole body shudder.

Dom went boneless, mouth open and eyes closed as he gasped for air and let Billy’s urgency take him deeper and deeper. “Yes,” Dom moaned, “tell me.” He could feel the kilt, heavy material bunched up and sliding over his back as Billy fucked him steadily.

“Love how you just take it,” Billy said abruptly, “the way you look under my hands, around my cock.” He shifted; lifted one foot and put it on the sofa, the heavy boot beside Dom’s knee, weight of it on the cushion tipping Dom sideways except Billy was speeding up, holding him in place. His fingers dug into Dom’s hipbones, jamming him back onto his cock with every thrust. “Love your arse, how hot you are, hot and tight and wet around my—fuck—around my cock—”

Billy shifted again, just slightly, and the change sent his cock tight against Dom’s prostate with every hard inward slam. Dom melted, nothing but need and want left—caught in the darkness behind his eyelids, in Billy’s furious desire and movement. Dom’s breathing was loud, Billy fucking needy groans out of him with almost every thrust. His cock was throbbing, aching for friction and he gasped out “Billy, Billy, touch me, please, please—” nonsense, garbled pleading falling from his lips.

“Want it, oh god,” Billy muttered; he lay over Dom’s back and reached around him, gripped his cock tightly and kept fucking him, the thrusts driving Dom’s cock into the tight circle of Billy’s fingers, “come on, Dom, come on, Dom, come for me, come, oh, fuck—”

Dom’s whole body went tight for an instant as his orgasm overtook him. He opened his mouth but no sound came out; there were only the endless waves of pleasure, of coming, spurting into Billy’s hand, muscles clenching frantically around the hard, inescapable intrusion of Billy’s cock in his arse as Dom writhed and gasped under him, around him.

“Oh fuck oh,” Billy was breathing, “ _oh_ —” His hands, one on Dom’s hip, one around his still-thick cock, tightened, and Dom felt Billy’s mouth open against his back, the whoosh of his breath as he jerked and shuddered against Dom, striving and spilling within his body, crying out his completion.

Billy stayed there for a minute, breathing hard, then turned his head and kissed Dom’s shoulder before straightening and stepping back, sliding out of Dom’s body. “Jesus Christ.”

Dom sighed into the sofa cushion. “Yeah.” Eventually he pushed himself up, looking down at where he’d shot all over Billy’s furniture. “Uh, might need something to clean this up,” he said, a laugh bubbling up.

Billy peered around him and then stumbled, colt-legged, toward the kitchen. “I got it,” he said. “Gimme a sec.”

Dom sighed again and awkwardly stood, bending down to pull his trousers most of the way up so he could get to the loo and clean up. “I don’t think we have to go out to eat,” he called. When he came back out of the toilet, clean and buttoned up again, Billy was dabbing at the sofa with a damp hand towel.

“So basically you just wanted to get me into a kilt and get fucked,” Billy said. He tossed the towel at Dom, who caught it.

Dom rolled his eyes. “Duh,” he said.

Billy grinned. “Works for me.” He flopped onto the sofa. “You wore me out, anyway. Wanna order takeaway?”

Dom looked at the towel in his hand and went back to the bedroom to throw it into the laundry hamper. “That sounds good.”

 

 

…

 

 

They ate in the lounge, cartons of Thai balanced on their knees as they watched a rerun of _Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps_. Dom muted it at the commercials and went to the kitchen for two beers.

Billy poked at his almost-empty carton, then set it aside and took the beer Dom handed him. “Were you serious about getting tested?” Billy blurted out as Dom picked up the remote.

Dom set it back down and shifted, turned on the sofa so he was looking at Billy. “Well, yeah,” he said. “Might as well, right?”

Billy looked at him. “Right,” he said. “I just—wasn’t sure.” His face was slightly troubled. “I mean. Since we said this is just. Friends. Y’know?” He looked at Dom as though seeking his understanding. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to, or—”

“Do you—” Dom stopped, started again. He spoke slowly, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Do you think you’ll want to, ah, to date? Other people?” Something unpleasant twisted in his stomach; his hands tightened on his knees.

Billy was already shaking his head. “No, no. I don’t. I don’t want to date anyone else.” He smiled a little, dropping his gaze to the sofa between them. “And since we’re not dating—just good friends, you know—I guess I just don’t want to, to date. Period.” He looked back up, and his green eyes were clear and beautiful, focused on Dom in a way that made him go hot and happy.

“Me, either,” Dom said. He went up onto his knees and lurched toward Billy—Billy, who still had a beer in one hand, who held his arms out anyway and let Dom hug him, hugged him back, awkward and sweet. Billy, who pressed his face into Dom’s neck and rested there for a moment as Dom squeezed him tight. “Okay?”

Billy nodded against him. “Okay.” He pressed a kiss to Dom’s throat. “Better than okay.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Friday they used their lunch break to go to a clinic to be tested. It was also the day Dom’s new term began, and back at Billy’s flat after work, Dom opened his laptop and sat at the tiny, seldom-used dining table to log onto his classes. Billy let him be; he pottered around in the kitchen, making spaghetti and a salad. When it was ready he tapped Dom on the shoulder. “Break time?” he suggested, and Dom pushed back and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Sounds good.” He moved his laptop and helped Billy get the food.

They ate for a few minutes, Billy asking about the classes for the January term. Dom went on at length—apparently he’d been in the program for long enough now that he knew what to expect from some of the professors, as well as some of his fellow online students.

Billy listened, commented, snarked. He was tired—in three days there’d been nearly two weeks’ worth of emails to catch up on, and several people who had missed the automated deadline to update their passwords, so came back to find themselves locked out of their computers. He was happy to let Dom do the lion’s share of the talking.

Dom ran down eventually, though, and Billy looked up to see him fidgeting, tapping his fork against his plate.

“All good?” Billy asked.

“Yeah—yes,” Dom said, stopping, meeting his gaze and then dropping his eyes again. “Lij texted today. He asked if Sam could keep staying in my room through the weekend, maybe next week, too. I guess he’s applying for jobs in London? Any road. Seems like they hit it off as mates, at least.” Dom glanced at Billy. “I don’t want to impose on you, though. Sam can sleep on the sofa, or with Lij for that matter.” He smiled weakly; his shoulders were tight, closer to his ears than usual.

Billy watched him. Did Dom want to get back to his flat, or did he want to stay with Billy? Billy didn’t know; decided to just say what was in his head. “You’re not imposing,” he said. “If you want to stay, I’d like you to. But if you want to get back, I’d understand.”

Dom shook his head a little. “I don’t want to leave if you’re okay with me staying,” he said. “I like it here—it’s quieter. And there’s a lot more sex,” he added, smiling.

“Then stay,” Billy said. He waited a beat, then added, “Do you need to go check on Bella tomorrow?”

“Honestly?” Dom shrugged one shoulder. “She’s fine. Lij has been feeding her, and I love her, but she’s not all that dependent on me.” He smiled. His shoulders had dropped. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“Sleep in,” Billy said emphatically. “Then just go to the shops—we could go see a movie?” He felt his own shoulders relax, and realised he’d been tense as Dom.

“Could be fun,” Dom said. “You could wear your kilt.”

Billy smirked. “So we wouldn’t be going to the movies.”

Dom put an affronted hand on his chest. “Are you saying you don’t think your virtue would be safe with me if you were wearing a kilt?”

“Neither my virtue nor my settee,” Billy said comfortably. “But I don’t value either all that highly, so I’m willing to wear a kilt again if you want.”


	13. CHAPTERS, CHAPTERS, THERE WERE NEVER SUCH DEVOTED CHAPTERS

The weekend slid by quickly, and the week as well. On Tuesday night Billy stayed late at Weta to run his updates, but Dom went to the flat and fed Josie and Francie, tidied a bit, then studied, alone in the quiet space that was coming to feel weirdly home-like. Billy got home around eleven, and when Dom departed for Weta on Wednesday morning, he left Billy to sleep and enjoy his half-day. There was something startlingly domestic about it—sliding quietly from the bed and dressing, feeding the boys so they wouldn’t wake Billy too early, and then slipping out the door to catch the Tube.

Sitting in the train car, crowded in with everyone else on their way to work, Dom held his rucksack tightly to his chest and closed his eyes, drifting into an imaginary world where he got to do this every week: eat and sleep and wake beside Billy Boyd, study at the dining table, shower in the tiny loo, kiss Billy’s lips as much as he wanted, tease and flirt and wrestle and have sex, go to work and shops and movies and then come home—home? Well then, home—and do it all over again.

He opened his eyes, gazing at nothing, unsettled and attracted by that picture in equal measures.

Although he couldn’t find any signs that Billy was weary of him, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. So when Lij texted late Friday morning—the same day Billy and Dom both got their all-clear test results from the health clinic—and asked if Sam could stay in Dom’s room for one more weekend, as he had one last interview Monday morning, Dom was hesitant to ask Billy for yet another extension on his stay.

Dithering between want and worry, Dom screwed himself up to courage.

“Hey,” he said, throwing himself into the decrepit rolling chair across from Billy.

Billy propped his chin in his hands and smiled at him. “Hey. It’s not lunch-time yet, is it?”

Dom shook his head. “Lij just texted.” He rolled his eyes. “He wanted to know if Sam could stay through the weekend, but I didn’t want to—I wasn’t—I don’t know if it’s okay.” He made a silly face to cover his anxiety, then forced himself to relax and let the nerves show, staring at his knotted hands and rushing on before Billy could talk. “Because here’s the thing, I really like staying at your flat, but I know I can be a pain in the arse and I figure you might be tired of me, and I don’t want you to get tired of me.” He cautiously looked up at Billy.

Billy hadn’t moved; he was still gazing at Dom, still smiling a little. “I’m not tired of you,” he said.

“Oh,” Dom said weakly.

“You should stay with me through the weekend,” Billy added. He sat up, looked down at his desk and then seemed to force himself to look back at Dom, meet his eyes. “I figure at some point, we’ll get a wee bit tired of each other,” he said slowly. “Because that’s how humans work. But,” he shrugged, glancing away, “for some reason you know when to leave me alone, and I guess I know when to leave you alone.” Dom nodded; reached across the papers on the surface of the desk and grabbed Billy’s hand tightly. Billy squeezed back and looked down at their clasped hands, lips quirking. “There are worse things than being stuck in a flat with a friend,” he concluded.

“Okay,” Dom said. He bit his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. “A friend with benefits.”

Billy’s gaze met his, and Dom felt himself kindle in response to the sudden, unspoken heat in his eyes. “Excellent, condom-free benefits,” Billy said, and Dom did grin like an idiot, and shifted in his chair and wished it was time to go home already.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Billy came out of the loo undressed and ready for bed; Dom was sitting tailor-fashion atop the duvet, starkers, and playing a game on his phone which apparently forced him to twitch slightly from side to side and mutter curses at the machine.

“What’re you playing?” Billy asked.

“Temple Run,” Dom replied. “Fuck!” He lurched sideways, tongue sticking out between his teeth.

“I can’t do those games, they make me seasick,” Billy said.

“Motherfucker!” Dom said, swaying the other direction, then he sighed and tossed his phone onto the bedside table with a clatter. “I can’t do them either, I’m bollocks at them.”

“Get under the covers,” Billy said, tugging at the duvet to get it out from under Dom so he could slide under.

“Leave it,” Dom said. “I’m not cold, your flat’s always warm.”

Billy knelt on the bed, pulling the blanket hard to dislodge Dom’s weight atop it. “So go turn down the furnace,” he said. “Get off.” He tugged hard enough that Dom began to topple sideways.

He retaliated by bouncing up and grabbing Billy. “Nope!” he said. “If you want to get under the covers you’ll have to fight me for it.”

Billy scoffed and grabbed him right back. “That’ll be a short fight,” he grunted, trying to shove Dom face-first onto the mattress. They laughed and wrestled one another, snickering breathlessly as the duvet was mauled about. Billy felt their grappling turning into something more; the rub of skin on skin, Dom’s muscular arms and legs under and around him—it was all turning him on, and he could feel and see that Dom was having more than one kind of fun as well.

He wanted to wrestle Dom down and do him like this, laughing and cursing and struggling together. He renewed his efforts and got Dom face-down, quivering with pent-up laughter under him; Billy straddled him and rocked his half-hard cock along Dom’s arse; Dom sucked in a breath and shifted below him, pressing against him in a new way. Billy leaned down and licked his skin, bit him at the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Wanna fuck you like this,” Billy whispered, laughter and want tangled up in his voice. He was fully hard, now, and he rolled his whole body, rode Dom into the bed for a sweet, endless moment. “Can I fuck you like this, Dom?” he asked.

Dom shuddered and went still; nodded his head, face still pressed into the rucked-up duvet. “Yeah,” he rumbled, and shivered again.

“Don’t move,” Billy demanded; he leaned over without getting off Dom and managed to grab the bottle of lube from the night table where they’d left it. “No condom this time,” he said. “Gonna fuck you bare, right here.” A frisson of pleasure curled through him at the thought, and Dom made some small sound—agreement, anticipation.

Billy slid back, sat on Dom’s thighs and did a quick and dirty job of preparing him—two wet fingers, shoved in hard and fast. Dom clenched and then went boneless, trying to spread his legs further. “Be still,” Billy said, voice harsher than he’d meant; he smoothed his free hand over Dom’s back in silent apology. Dom twitched and nodded again, went still beneath him. “Hard to be gentle sometimes,” Billy said quietly.

Dom was unmoving for a moment, and then he turned his head just a little, so he could speak more clearly, and said, “I don’t want you to be gentle.” His ears and neck were hot red, and he pressed his face against the bed again.

Billy froze. Breathed in and then out, a long exhale as he settled more heavily onto Dom, pinning him to the mattress.

“I won’t be, then,” he said, and he readied Dom with a few more blunt, careless drags of his fingers, so everything was slippery and wet.

“Now,” Billy said, and he kept Dom’s thighs clamped between his own, looked down and pushed in with one rough, stuttering thrust.

Dom made a noise beneath him; Billy paused, already balls-deep, muscles taut with the need to move, to thrust again. “Do you need me to go slower?” he asked. “Tell me.”

Dom shook his head _no_ ; Billy shifted to get a better angle and began to fuck him hard and fast. Dom moved—shifted, flexed his shoulders as though to push himself up—and without conscious thought Billy grabbed one wrist and twisted Dom’s arm behind his back, forcing him down again. Dom groaned and jerked beneath him; it wasn’t a groan of pain.

“Christ,” Billy muttered, fingers tightening on Dom’s wrist even as his hips pistoned hard into him. There was something unnerving about the power he felt—dark and hot and simmering, seething between them. Something to do with Dom, face-down beneath him, body twisted and trapped beneath Billy’s arms and legs and cock, muscles straining against Billy’s even as he lay there and took it. Billy was burning up, knew Dom was, too, slick where their thighs were tight together, Dom’s shoulders and neck flushed and sweaty, his free hand fisted in the duvet.

Billy slowed abruptly; he let go of Dom’s wrist, let his arm fall to the bed but kept his weight on him. Billy changed his angle, shifted forward and back in long, luxurious strokes, into and out of Dom’s body, motionless beneath him. “I could do you all day like this,” Billy murmured. “Feels so good without anything between us.” Dom shuddered again.

Billy kept at it for a long time. It was hypnotic, the slow tight slide of Dom’s body on his cock, those smooth sweet strokes in and out, again and again until Billy was almost drunk with it, wrapped up in how it felt.

“Dom,” he said eventually. “Wanna turn you over. Want to see your face, your cock. See how you look under me.”

Dom gave a long, shaky sigh and nodded his head again, face still hidden. Billy stopped and moved off him so Dom could turn over. When he did he immediately began pulling at Billy to get him back on him, in him.

Dom looked absolutely wrecked: hair tangled and damp with sweat, his face red, creased by the sheets he’d been pressed into. His eyes were heavy-lidded and barely open, glassy and gone somewhere else. _Somewhere good_ , Billy thought, and when he pushed back into Dom it was confirmed: Dom let his head fall back and pulled his legs open and back, bent himself nearly double beneath Billy, opening himself as wide as he could, voicing a wordless plea.

“What do you need, Dom,” Billy whispered, starting to move in him again. “Tell me what you need.”

Dom’s breathing caught. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know, I don’t—” His head tossed feverishly, eyes glinting up at Billy. “Hold me down,” he rasped.

Billy swallowed and nodded; grabbed Dom’s wrists and pinned them up beside his shoulders. “Like that?” he asked, low.

Dom nodded, then shook his head. His eyes closed tightly, and he struggled under Billy. “It’s not—not enough,” he said, voice veering out of control— “not enough!” he cried, and struggled harder.

Billy didn’t think, he did what felt right. He tightened his grip on Dom’s wrists, shoved him hard into the mattress, and began moving faster. “It is enough,” he growled.

“No,” Dom whimpered, but Billy did everything harder, harder, harder.

“Take it, Dom, fucking— _take it_ —” he grated out. He gritted his teeth and did him fast and dirty and rough, rocking Dom’s whole body into the bed with the power of his thrusts. Dom was practically sobbing, red-faced and writhing under Billy, but his cock was rock hard between them and Billy knew he was right, he was doing exactly what Dom needed, what he wanted, even though Billy’s hands ached with how cruelly tight he was holding Dom’s wrists. “Gonna hold you down and fuck you hard, fuck you and come in you, fill you up,” Billy grunted.

And that was it, that was what it took: Dom gave a ragged wail and then went silent, arching off the bed and into Billy as he came, his head thrown back and neck corded, cock spurting thick white spatters over his belly and Billy’s. It was caught in the hair there and then smeared messily between them as Billy pinned him down and gave several long, shuddering thrusts, groaning out his own orgasm and spilling into Dom. There was suddenly less friction around his cock and Billy cried out and kept thrusting, another surge of sharp pleasure sparking at the thought of filling Dom, his cock sliding in and out of Dom’s body with his come making everything slippery, easy.

“Fuck me,” Billy panted, shuddering down from the high of it, “Jesus, Jesus—” He wanted to stay in Dom forever but he knew he’d been too rough; he shifted and slid from Dom’s body, lay atop him for a moment, still breathing hard, then rolled them both to their sides so he could gather Dom to him. Dom was trembling all over, and he curled into Billy, pressed his face into Billy’s neck and went lax as Billy wrapped him up in his arms and legs, cradled him carefully. “I’m sorry, Dom,” Billy said, remorseful. “It was too much, wasn’t it, I got carried away.”

Dom’s voice was slurred, almost drugged-sounding. “No, it was good,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to Billy’s ear. “I’m good.”

“It was too hard,” Billy said. He ran his hands over Dom’s back, closed his eyes in self-reproach. “I’m sorry.”

Dom patted his chest clumsily. “Shut it.”

“Dom, I held you down and fucked you,” Billy insisted. Unease coiled through him, because he’d liked it. Liked it a lot, and he wondered where that had come from, what it meant about him.

Dom had stopped shivering; he was heavy and hot in Billy’s arms, sweat-damp and limp. Now he lifted his head and blinked at him. “Bill,” he said, slowly, clearly. “It was good. I liked it. I hope you’ll do it again soon.” His face was pink; he kissed Billy’s lips and then nuzzled back into his neck. “So could you please stop ruining a perfectly good post-shag glow?”

“Oh.” Billy cuddled him. “Really?” Dom nodded slightly. Billy ducked his head and kissed Dom’s disheveled hair. “Okay.” He sighed, then, and still wondered what it had meant—his own pleasure in Dom’s submission, the way Dom had fought and then surrendered so absolutely. He shivered a little himself, from the cool air on his drying body, and with the thought of Dom, and what they might do together, where they might go together.

 

 

…  

 

 

They spent much of the weekend in bed, which wasn’t exactly a surprise—or a change from the last few weekends, either—but it was different than before. Billy felt some line had been crossed. From what or to where, he wasn’t certain, but he felt simultaneously more tentative with Dom and more tender; freer but not quite willing to think about it, or examine the why of it. Not when he carefully pushed Dom’s hair out of his eyes, leaned down to kiss his forehead, cheek, lips, as he moved over him and in him; and not when he woke the younger man up, deep in the night, and asked Dom to fuck him, husky whisper in his ear. He just knew he needed Dom’s hands on him, wanted his soft sleepy face and lean, beautiful body, and the intent pleasure and patience in his expression as Billy closed his eyes and tried to relax, opening himself to Dom.

They rode the train together Monday morning, Billy carrying Dom’s rucksack, Dom with the duffle (full of clean clothes) sitting atop his feet as he stood and held the pole, crushed close to Billy by the press of humanity around them. Billy tipped his head sideways to rest against Dom’s for a moment, and caught Dom’s small, secretive smile as he sighed and straightened again.

They ate lunch together and at the end of the day Dom went home again, back to Orlando and Elijah and Bella the snake, and Billy went back to his flat, where he sat on the sofa and petted Francie and watched TV without having any idea of what was on. Josie stalked from room to room, and it finally occurred to Billy that he was looking for Dom. Billy took a picture—Josie’s cautious face, peering into the loo—and sent it to Dom.

_I don’t know if he misses you or thinks his wishes finally came true_

A pause, and then Dom replied: _I bet he borrowed the voodoo doll from Miranda and thinks it finally worked_

 _He’s gonna be sad when you show up this weekend_ , Billy typed. _Btw can you come over this weekend?_

 _Hoping you’d ask_ , Dom replied. _Of course_. A beat, then: _I’m bringing my laundry_

Billy smirked at the phone and sent a last message: _Bring your own washing powder. Now go study, lazy sod_

 _Yes mum_ , Dom replied. _See u tomorrow_

Billy grinned and slumped back onto the settee.

 

 

…

 

 

“Studying here tonight?” Billy asked in the break room on Tuesday, but Dom shook his head, swallowing a bite of his lunch before he could speak.

“No, I’d like to, but I have got to get to some shops, I’m out of food and Bella’s nearly out, too.” He waved his fork around. “It’s not too bad at home right now, Orli’s working at a clothing store for a few weeks, mostly in the evenings, and Lij is either in hospital or texting frantically with Sam or sitting in his room with his earphones on. I’ll probably start coming back in here in a couple of weeks but for now it’s fine.”

“Plus it’s early in the term,” Billy said. “No need to start panicking just yet.” He smirked at Dom.

“Exactly,” Dom said. “Plenty of time for that in April.”

It was quiet that night at Weta without Dom there, studying in the front office; Billy picked up his phone half-a-dozen times to text him, then put it down and reached for his book instead, sighing at himself.

 

 

…

 

 

Wednesday night Dom called him. It was late-ish, and Billy was reading in bed, trying to force a vague interest in a hardware upgrade article. He grabbed his phone with relief. “Dom,” he said, and he could hear the smile in Dom’s voice as he said, “Billy.” It made Billy smile, too, and he thumbed off the Kindle and slid down in the bed, ducking his head under the covers and curling up with the phone cradled against his ear.

“What’s up?” Billy asked. “All right?”

“All right,” Dom said. “Just thought I’d call. Didn’t get to talk with you much today, lazy wanker. Half-days every Wednesday, what a scam.”

“I know,” Billy agreed. “Hope no one catches on.”

Dom snorted in his ear. “There are six shades of nail varnish in my desk,” he said. “I think you’re safe.”

Billy snickered. “Maybe so.” There was a comfortable silence. “How’s the flat?” Billy asked. “And Bella?”

“She’s fine, it’s all good,” Dom said. “I don’t think she noticed I was gone, to be honest.” He told Billy about Sam’s discovery of Bella’s mice in the freezer, and his apparently epic recoil of horror.

“You have to admit it’d be a bit of a surprise,” Billy said, a chuckle in his voice.

“Mm.” Dom yawned, and Billy yawned, and both of them snickered. “How are the boys?”

“They’re fine.” Billy closed his eyes. “The flat’s a little too quiet, I think.”

“Mm, I know what you mean.” Dom’s voice dropped. “Miss having you about.”

“Me, too,” Billy said. “I miss having you here, I mean.” He tensed, forced himself to relax, spoke: “...Ehm. Dom.”

“Yeah, Bills?” Dom’s voice was sleepy, slow.

Billy inhaled. “That night—you know? The first time… without a condom?”

“Yeah.” Quiet still, but not sleepy. “I know.”

“It wasn’t just me, right?” Billy said. “It was—it was intense, aye?”

“Yeah,” Dom said. “Yes. But I liked it.”

“Me, too.” Billy listened to him breathe for a minute and then went on. “I was reading online, about, about, ehm, dominant and, ah, submissive stuff. Things. And.” He swallowed. “Anyway. Have you ever… read about that? Or done anything like that, before?”

“No, not really.” Dom inhaled. “What did you find out?”

Billy shifted, uncomfortable and remembering the pictures, a couple of videos he’d stumbled across. “I found out it’s pretty normal for some people—just, sort of, how they’re wired, like.” He kept his voice even. “For some couples it’s a whole thing, a way they are all the time, I guess, or every time they, they have sex.” He shifted again, a little turned on. “And for other people it’s something they do every once in a while—like, it’s special, or something they kind of use to blow off steam or use up energy or something.”

Dom made a soft sound of understanding. “I could see that,” he said. “It was intense, like you said, but I did feel relaxed, after.” He rumbled amusement. “ _Really_ relaxed. Flattened out.”

Billy huffed a little laugh, too. “Oh, I know.”

“Do you want to do it again?” Dom asked, sounding curious.

Billy nodded; realised Dom couldn’t see him. “Aye, I think so. What about you?”

He could practically hear Dom thinking. “Yes,” he said at last. “I liked it. I’d like you to—to do it again, maybe something different, something… more.”

Billy squirmed. He was getting aroused—Dom’s low voice in his ear, the idea of having him helpless and pinned again—it was making him hard. “What about tying you up?” Billy breathed.

Dom swallowed audibly. “Yeah. Yes.”

“What do you like about that?” Billy asked.

“I don’t know,” Dom said; he sounded unsure, young for a moment. “I can’t—it’s hard for me to say,” he finally confessed. “It’s not really a verbal thing. It kind of… it makes me go blank, in a way,” he said hesitantly. “Like all I’m there for is to feel you, to be—” he swallowed again, voice dropping almost to a whisper— “to be used by you, used up.”

Billy almost couldn’t talk, his throat had gone so hot with desire, but he could hear Dom’s anxious breathing and had to say something. “I want that,” he said with a voice like sandpaper. He coughed, trying to regain his composure. “Want to do that, make you feel that.” He squirmed again, reached down and squeezed his cock. “Love the idea of that, Dom,” he said. “Just thinking about it’s got me fucking sweating,” he added, half-laughing, half-desperate.

“Oh god, me, too,” Dom rasped. “Talk to me. Talk me off, Billy.”

Billy groaned. “Dom—d’you know what you do to me?” He rolled to his back, squeezed and rubbed his cock. “Thinking of you jerking off while I’m talking to you—Jesus.”

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” Dom said.

Billy thought about it; let a picture form as he spoke, as he began to pull his cock in slow, tight strokes. “Want to tie you up to the bed,” he said, “get some rope and tie you down, on your knees, arms stretched out, face down.”

“Fuck,” Dom breathed. “Yeah.”

“I wanna—I wanna fuck you like that, get you barely wet enough and shove in, fuck you like an animal. I want to bite you, Dom, bite your shoulder and make you beg—” He was stroking hard and fast, thinking of it, of Dom shaking beneath him, at his mercy.

“Oh _god_ ,” Dom moaned. “Yeah. _Please_.”

“Yes just like that,” Billy said in a rush, fingers tight on his cock, slippery beads of precome smearing when he twisted his palm over the head; he switched to using just his fingertips, tiny tight movements that made him choke and stutter for a moment. “Fuck, I want you to come for me, I want to fuck you so hard you just come, you can’t help it, and then—” Billy could hear Dom panting, knew he was lying back and frantically jerking his cock, pictured it. “Then I want to fuck you even harder, harder—”

Dom was mumbling obscenities under Billy’s jumbled narrative, a tight whine trapped in his voice: “Fuck, fuck, yes, fuck me, tie me down, _hnnnnngh_ —”

“—and I’m going to fuck you until I come in you,” Billy grated out, “I want to leave tooth marks in your shoulders and bruises on your hip bones, I want to fuck you—fuck you—” He squeezed himself hard, whimpered and came, gasping Dom’s name, and he heard Dom’s ragged breaths, the shredded words _he_ was trying to say as he came: _Billy_ and _yes_ and _please_. Billy gave a whole-body shudder of release, the phone sliding from his nerveless hand for a moment as he panted, heart pounding in reaction.

He fumbled for the phone with his left hand, pressed it to his ear. “Dom, are you there?” he said, winded.

“Sort of,” Dom said, and he was gasping, too, laughing low and sweet and breathless. “You should give classes in dirty talk,” he managed after a minute, and Billy laughed with him, dizzy and still wanting.

“After the robots take my job,” he suggested.

“Yes,” Dom said, “definitely then, but maybe sooner.” He sighed, sounding pleased with himself and with the world.

Billy let his eyes close, let himself sink back. “Mmm. I’ll consider that.” He yawned, and heard Dom yawn again as well. “Oh fuck, that’s cured any upcoming insomnia,” he said.

“Mm-hmm,” Dom said. “I need to go clean up before I fall asleep like this.”

“And wake up glued to the sheets,” Billy agreed, and grinned as Dom laughed again.

“Exactly,” Dom replied. “Very vivid image.”

“Same thing here,” Billy said, and exhaled. “That was fun.”

“It was,” Dom agreed. “Let’s talk more this weekend,” he said, and Billy knew he meant, _I want you to talk dirty to me again_ , and knew he also meant, _I want us to talk about what we want to try together_.

“Good plan,” Billy said.

“Okay.” Dom was quiet for a moment, then: “Good night, Bills.”

“G’night, Dommie,” Billy said, and almost blurted out _Love you_ before he stopped himself. Dom murmured a wordless response and clicked away, and Billy was left with his silent phone in one hand, staring at the ceiling in his darkened bedroom and suddenly not sleepy at all.


	14. CHAPTERS!? WE DON'T NEED NO STINKIN' CHAPTERS

“So my room’s being co-opted again,” Dom said, dropping into the chair across from Billy in the break room. “I told Lij I was going to your place this weekend and he said ‘Oh great, Sam’s in town again, he can stay in your room instead of on the sofa.’” Dom rolled his eyes. “He’s a smitten kitten.”

Billy laughed. “Have they shagged?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Dom said. “I expect they’ll break Lij’s bed if they ever get around to it.” He smirked. “Lots of pent-up randiness there, at least on his end.”

Billy threw a crisp at him. “Speaking of which, are you coming home with me tomorrow evening?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay.” Dom picked up the crisp and ate it. “What should I bring?”

“You and your dirty laundry,” Billy said.

Dom waggled his eyebrows. “There’s such a _lot_ of it, Mr. Boyd,” he breathed like a melodramatic ingenue.

Billy snorted. “Is this supposed to be news?” He poked at his sarnie. “If you want to eat, you’ll have to text me a shopping list, I’m down to oatmeal and pot noodles.”

“Seems unfair to make you shop for my food,” Dom said.

“But you’re cooking it for me, too,” Billy said. “It’s not exactly altruistic on my part.” He smiled, and Dom wished for an instant that he could lean across and kiss him; there was sometimes something so sweet in Billy’s smile that Dom thought if he kissed him hard enough he would taste it.

He fidgeted, looking down at his hands, sliding off one of his rings and turning it in his fingertips. “How’s your liquor supply?” Dom asked.

“Fine as always,” Billy replied. “But if you want something other than beer or whisky, text that, too, and I’ll stop into the off-license.”

“Nah, I’ll steal some of Orli’s shite if I want something else,” Dom said.

Billy reached across and plucked the silver ring from him. “I like this ring,” he said, examining it. “It suits you.”

“They all suit me,” Dom said, sniffing and snatching the ring back. He slid it onto its finger and spread his hands flat on the table in display.

This time Billy’s smile was smaller, more private. “They certainly do,” he said, low and teasing, and Dom shifted and thought that Friday evening, although less than 48 hours away, could not come quickly enough.

 

 

…

 

 

The train ride from Weta to Whetstone had been one long tease. Somehow Billy managed to keep touching him for the whole journey, despite the fact that Dom was encumbered by his rucksack and the same duffle full of dirty clothes as before, and they were both surrounded by thirty tired and vociferous London commuters. Billy stood pressed to his back, and at some point his hand slid onto Dom’s bum and stayed there. Had Dom been wearing jeans it might have been pleasantly titillating; as it was, he’d worn cargo pants which were too thin for the season (he’d been freezing all day), and _far_ too thin to keep him from feeling every rub and press of Billy’s fingers over his arse.

They shoved their way off the train and through the station, emerging at the top of the steps into the raw dark of a January evening. “Wanna stop at the off-license?” Billy asked. “I still only have beer and whisky.”

“ _Fuck_ , no,” Dom said. He thrust the rucksack at Billy and slung the duffle bag’s strap more securely over his shoulder. “Walk faster.”

Billy snickered and trotted after him, swinging the rucksack from one hand.

Dom hovered on Billy’s heels as he unlocked the flat, shoving him through the door and then slamming it behind them. The cats were both standing in the entrance, and Josie let out a cranky meow; Dom ignored them and grabbed Billy right there. “C’mere, c’mere,” he muttered, dropping the duffle and sliding the rucksack more gently from Billy’s shoulder. “You’re such a goddamn tease,” he said, collapsing to his knees. He fumbled at Billy’s button and zip, shoving his jumper and jacket up and out of the way with an irritable huff.

Billy was laughing, somewhere up there, unzipping his coat and letting it fall, pulling his jumper up and over his head just as Dom yanked his trousers and pants to his knees. The laughter choked off into a gasp as Dom went down on him.

Dom loved sucking him like this, feeling his cock thicken and swell against his tongue, licking and kissing as Billy’s fingers tightened in his hair. Dom sucked him hard and fast and messy, but it wasn’t enough; he kept imagining the way Billy had squeezed his arse surreptitiously on the train, the rough drag of a finger between his cheeks, and he wanted Billy in him, filling him. He pulled at Billy’s hips, grabbed his hands and pulled him down.

Billy sank to his knees on the carpet and kissed him back fiercely, breathless and laughing and intent. “What d’you need?” Billy asked, gasping it into his ear as his head fell back, as Dom mouthed and kissed his throat. “Oh my Dom, tell me,” Billy insisted; in the meantime his hands were undressing Dom, shoving at his coat and shirt, one small deft hand slipping between them to grasp him through his trousers, rub over the aching line of his erection. “Tell me, tell— _fuck_ —” Dom bit him and Billy shuddered and laughed again.

“Need you to fuck me,” Dom said. He leaned back and pulled his shirt off, shoved down his trousers and then thumped onto his bum on the carpet, kicking off his trainers and getting his cargos all the way off. “Want you in me,” he said, and surged back up. He pushed Billy down, and bent over him to suck his cock again, getting it wet; knelt over him, straddling his thighs, and spit onto his own hand.

“I wanna ride you,” Dom said. Billy nodded and lay still beneath him, chest moving quickly with his breath, his hands smoothing over Dom’s skin wherever he could reach. He watched with dark eyes as Dom thrust two wet fingers into himself for a moment and then shuffled forward, reaching down to hold Billy’s cock. Billy offered a hand for balance and Dom grabbed it, eyes closing as he sank onto Billy. It felt—fuck, it burned and split him and felt like everything he needed, thick and not-quite-slippery-enough and inescapable. Dom groaned and clutched at Billy’s hand, rocking himself down until Billy was all the way inside him.

“Slow down,” Billy murmured, squeezing Dom’s fingers, reaching up to cup his face with the other. “Go slow for a second, Dommie.”

Dom couldn’t speak; he shook his head, felt his face screwed up in pleasurable pain as a thin, needy sound clawed itself from his throat.

Dom opened his eyes as Billy shifted, bringing their clasped hands to his lips. He drew Dom’s fingers into his mouth, sucked them wetly, pulled them out. “Get us wetter,” Billy said, and Dom let out a gasping sob, nodded and reached back to rub wet fingers around Billy’s cock, around his own thin skin, stretched to let Billy within.

Everything got easier. Dom closed his eyes, began shifting up and down, fucking himself on Billy’s cock. Billy touched him everywhere, palms smoothing over his thighs, fingers slipping down to fondle Dom’s balls when Dom rose, moving out of the way as Dom’s body slammed down again. “Look at you,” Billy said, hands sliding up to hold Dom’s hips; his thumbs pressed into the hollows there, and when Dom opened his eyes, Billy had lifted his head and was staring at where they were joined, watching his cock slide into Dom again and again as Dom rode him. “Look at you,” he said again, and his fingers tightened; Dom saw his eyes close, his head fall back onto the carpet. “So good,” Billy was murmuring, hands on Dom, “you feel so good, look so good.” He pushed up to meet Dom’s next slide and Dom cried out as the movement pressed Billy’s cock into his prostate, sending sparks through his whole body. Billy did it again and again, chin tipping back as he began thrusting up into Dom, eyes closed and mouth open, panting for air.

Dom arched, eyes sinking shut as he rode Billy, as Billy shoved up into his body again and again. It was rough and wonderful, the carpet burning his kneecaps, thighs beginning to ache and tremble with effort. His hands wavered, fluttered in the air and then flew up to clutch at his hair as he began sounding with every upward thrust, every downward crash.

“Touch yourself,” Billy said suddenly, “Dom, I want you to come on me, please—” Billy’s voice fractured into a moan and Dom wrapped his fingers around himself, breath catching at the feel of it, the tight grip on desperate hardness.

He jerked himself with a fast slapping motion and felt his orgasm pool between his legs, rush outward as Billy fucked up into him hard and fast. “I’m coming,” Dom’s voice hitched, and he did, opening his eyes to see himself spurt onto Billy, thin strings of come on his chest and belly, slowing to slide over Dom’s knuckles onto Billy’s pelvis.

Billy was watching, too, eyes raking over Dom’s body. Even as Dom began to collapse, panting and still massaging his cock with easy, squeezing strokes, Billy surged up and wrapped his arms around Dom, bearing him up and back so Billy was over him, laying him onto his back and thrusting into him with powerful strokes. Dom put one hand against Billy’s cheek and Billy turned his head blindly into it, coming apart, mouth open against Dom’s palm, gasping, “Yes, yes, fuck,” as he pounded into him, shuddering and coming.

He kept moving, eyes closed, head bent as his thrusts slowed, until he was sliding in and out of Dom with long, lush strokes that gradually came to a halt. He rested his forehead against Dom’s shoulder and let out a shuddering sigh.

Dom put his arms around Billy’s neck and held on. “I think I needed that,” he said. Billy nodded against his shoulder. Dom turned his head and pressed a smiling kiss to Billy’s ear. “Think Josie will hate me even more now?”

Billy laughed silently against him. “He thought you were dead, any resurrection was bound to offend him.” He groaned and began to push himself up and off of Dom. “Welcome back,” Billy said. He sat back and smiled: naked and messy and flushed, his hair standing up every which way and green eyes even greener against the pink of his cheeks.

Dom sighed happily and stretched full-length on the carpet. “Glad to be here.”

 

 

…

 

 

They ate and showered, Dom leaving his laundry till tomorrow (or maybe Sunday), and then sat in the lounge in their boxers and t-shirts. Billy turned on a football game and Dom studied, sharing various horrifying environmental disasters with Billy until Billy rebelled, grabbing the laptop and setting it aside, turning off the telly and climbing atop Dom to kiss him for a long, delicious time.

Dom loved the way Billy kissed—sweet and dirty, biting sometimes (Dom’s lower lip, his jaw, his earlobe, his neck) and other times opening to Dom, to his need to kiss and lick and suck at Billy’s tongue, his throat, the thick muscle where shoulder met neck, taut as Billy held himself over Dom. Their tongues slipped around each other as their breath mingled, small sounds of contentment and curiosity traded back and forth, words of teasing and desire that left Dom heavy and buzzing with pleasure, drunk with the taste and sound and scent of Billy.

They rubbed against one another on the sofa, movements becoming more urgent until Billy made a frustrated noise into Dom’s mouth and levered himself up. “Get these out of the way,” he said, snapping the waistband of Dom’s boxers and pushing at his own, and when they’d been shoved down, Dom licked his palm and wrapped one big hand around them both. Billy’s cock rubbed against his, Billy’s shoulders corded as he bent his head and kissed Dom. Dom stroked their cocks together until they came: Billy first, breath hitching and face screwed up as though in pain, and then as everything grew slick and easy, Billy sighed and rolled his hips into Dom, bending to kiss him and kiss him until Dom shivered and came, toes curling with the pure heady rush of it.

“Oh fuck, now I just want to sleep,” Dom moaned as he pulled his hand from between them, as Billy gently collapsed atop him, heavy and hot and damp. “Can we sleep here?” He sighed into Billy’s neck.

“Remember that whole ‘glued to the sheets’ thing?” Billy mumbled into his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” Dom said. “Fuck.”

They clambered slowly up, grousing mildly, and crowded into the loo together to tidy up. “Out now,” Billy said once Dom was clean, his pants pulled back up, and pushed him out of the tiny room.

Dom walked the flat, turning out lights and bending to pet Francie where he lay curled on the seldom-used armchair. Josie sat on the television cabinet, watching alertly. In the bedroom Dom snapped on the little lamp and crawled under the covers. He was nearly asleep when Billy came in; Billy slid into bed beside him and turned off the lamp, leaning over to kiss Dom’s shoulder. “Sleep well,” he murmured.

Dom turned over and curled into him, pulling Billy’s arm over himself and pressing his face into Billy’s chest. “Night,” he said, and let sleep rise up over him.

 

 

…

 

 

Dom woke up in darkness; he blinked with confusion, not sure why he was awake. He lifted his head enough to see the glowing alarm clock; it was well after 2 a.m. Billy wasn’t in bed beside him; there was a faint light under the door, from elsewhere in the flat.

Dom had to piss; he sighed and rubbed his face and threw off the covers, walking unsteadily toward the door. He was always clumsy when he first woke but he made it to the door with only one collision (with the dresser) and opened it. There was a low light on in the lounge. Dom went to the toilet first; finished his business and washed his hands perfunctorily. He dried them and went looking for Billy.

He found him on the floor in the lounge, leaning back against the sofa, his legs stretched out under the coffee table. Francie was sitting on his far side, being petted, and there was a half-empty bottle of whisky and a half-full tumbler of the same on the table top in easy reach.

“Hey,” Dom said. “Whatcha doing?” He sat on the sofa, then slid off to sit beside Billy, leaning his head to rest against Billy’s shoulder.

“Just havin’ a drink,” Billy said. “Me ‘n’ Francie. An’ Josie, but he left.” He bumped companionably against Dom, reached for his glass and took a drink. Francie stood, stretched, and paced away; Dom knew he was headed for the bedroom, where he would curl up on Dom’s pillow.

“I knew Josie was a drinker,” Dom said. He wrapped his hand around Billy’s on the glass and tugged it away; took a sip and made a face. “Ergh.” He smacked his lips. “Strong stuff.” He put it back on the table.

“Glenmorangie,” Billy said, nodding. “Puts hair on your chest.”

“That explains it,” Dom said.

They sat in silence for a while, Billy sipping regularly from his tumbler. Dom was sleepy; he wondered why Billy was out here drinking alone. “All right?” he finally ventured.

“Mm?” Billy looked at him, eyebrows up, then waved a hand. “Oh, aye, ‘m all right enough.” He set the glass down, tilted the bottle over it and poured another half-glass. “Couldn’t sleep. Usually I sleep better.”

Dom waited for the rest of the sentence, then realized it wasn’t coming. “When you have some whisky?” he hazarded.

“Nae, when you’re here,” Billy said. “Usually I sleep better when you’re here.” He took a long swallow. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.” Dom let his head fall back onto the sofa cushion, eyes closing.

There was another long, sleepy silence. Billy broke it. “I’m not quite all right,” he said confidingly.

Dom opened his eyes and swiveled his head to look at Billy. Billy was looking straight ahead, eyes unfocused. “What’s wrong, Bill?” Dom asked tentatively.

Billy drank; set his glass on the table. “I’m not quite all right,” he repeated quietly.

Dom reached for his hand, and held it in both of his, massaging it. “Tell me,” he suggested.

“Don’t think I should,” Billy said. “It’s you I’m not all right about.” His accent was thicker, voice lower and slower than usual.

Dom’s belly twisted with sluggish panic. It was too late and he was still too sleep-addled to know what to do, what to say. He looked down at Billy’s hand in his and said, “I think you should tell me.”

“Aye?” Billy said. He looked at Dom, and Dom lifted his gaze and looked back.

“Yeah.” Dom squeezed his hand. “How can I help if I don’t know what the problem is?”

Billy blinked and looked away again, staring into whatever space he was staring into. “That’s a fair point,” he said. He sat still for a long time—long enough that Dom started getting sleepy again, despite the anxiety plucking at his nerves. Billy took another drink and sighed. “I don’t know what t’do, Dommie.”

Dom stayed quiet, rubbing Billy’s hand again, and waited, forcing himself to remain alert.

“Keep thinkin’ I’m falling in love with you,” Billy said, “an’ I don’t really know what to do about that.” He lifted his tumbler and sipped again. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.”

Dom swallowed—heat and terror and frightened happiness tangling through his veins—and said, “I know. We were just going to be friends.”

“Right,” Billy said. “Friends with benefits. That seemed like a good idea.” He sounded as though he wasn’t quite certain about that statement; his fingers twitched in Dom’s hand. “It seemed like a good idea,” he repeated. “Did I ever tell you about David?”

“Your ex, right?” Dom said, slightly confused.

“Yeah. David was my boss. We started dating and took everything slow. Dated for two years—though we got the boys after only one, they lived with me but we thought of them as ours—and then lived together for another year.”

“I think I knew that,” Dom said, uncomfortable.

Billy nodded. He finished his whisky and reached for the bottle again, but Dom sat up and moved it away, out of reach. “Hey,” Billy said, brow furrowing into a mild scowl.

“Finish telling me,” Dom said, and settled back, shoulder to shoulder with him, and took his hand again.

“S’my whisky,” Billy grumbled, but he went on talking. “I did everything the right way with David,” he said. “We told our bosses, got special permission. Were upfront with everyone. I met his family, he met Margo. We got a two-bedroom flat, signed a joint lease, got new furniture, did everything just right.” He looked down at their joined hands. “Why’d you take away my whisky?” he asked. “Need whisky to talk about that arsehole,” he mumbled.

Dom sighed and sat forward. He poured Billy a finger of amber liquid and handed it to him. “Water after this, though, okay?”

“This is water,” Billy said, taking the glass. “Water of life.” He smirked for a moment, and tipped half of it down his throat without a wince.

Dom winced for him. “You’ll long for death tomorrow,” he said dryly, and leaned back again. “Tell me the rest.”

“Aye, prob’ly,” Billy nodded. He set the glass on the table and put his hand back into Dom’s. “Rub my hand,” he instructed tetchily, and Dom looked down, trying to smile, and did. “So,” Billy said. “It turned out that David was cheating on me just about the whole time we were together.”

Dom sucked in a breath and leaned his head against Billy’s shoulder. “That sucks.”

“Aye, it does,” Billy said. “He was cheating when we got Francie and Josie, he was cheating when we decided to move in together. He was cheating when we bought furniture and signed a lease.” He sighed heavily. “The stupid thing is—ach, the whole thing is stupid.” He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then went on as though unable to stop himself. “The stupid thing is I’m not a jealous person,” Billy said, shifting to look at Dom. Dom looked back, eyebrows raised in tacit encouragement. “I never gave a shite if he said another fellow was nice-looking, I don’t think I would’ve even give a shite if he wanted to, to, I dunno—to fuck around, or have a, a threesome or whatever, as long as we _talked_ about it, but he never told me.” He gazed at Dom beseechingly. “It never even occurred t’me to think he might be cheating, and so he did, and I only figured it out when a friend at work told me he’d seen David out somewhere with someone else. And even then,” Billy poked Dom’s chest in emphasis, “even then I just asked David about it, like a numptie. I said, ‘oh aye, Gina says she saw you downtown with a mate yesterday night, I thought you’d gone to see your mum.’” Billy shook his head in wonder—at himself, at the absent David. (Whom Dom wanted, right then, to punch in the face. Hard.)

“Even _then_ ,” Billy sighed, “I only figured it out because he went so pasty pale, and started stammering. And at that, it took me a good day to really figure it out, to figure out that it wasn’t a misunderstanding or a, a joke. And weeks to figure out how long it’d been going on, how blind I’d been.” He shook his head again. “A fucking numptie,” he mumbled.

“You weren’t!” Dom burst out, furious for him. “That _fucker!_ ” He wanted to leap up, pace the room, find David Whatever and beat him into a jelly. “You weren’t a, a numptie, an idiot, _he_ was,” Dom said. He grabbed Billy’s chin and turned it toward himself. “Don’t ever call yourself anything like that,” he insisted. “You’re brilliant, and him being a lying arsehole just means you’re too nice, that’s all.”

He could feel how red his face was, but he met Billy’s surprised gaze defiantly, willing Billy to see himself as Dom did: funny and kind and sane, generous to a fault and good right down to his bones.

Billy’s face softened. “Ach, y’see, this is why I’m stupid over _you_ ,” he said, and he curved his hand over Dom’s shoulder and pulled him in, kissing him briefly before pulling back. “Quit makin’ me fall in love with you,” he complained.

Dom flushed even hotter and dropped his eyes. “Bills,” he began, but Billy stopped him.

“No, listen.” He touched Dom’s knee. “M’not done. Okay?”

Dom nodded and sat back again, settling beside him and grabbing his hand once more. “All right,” he said. He shot a glance at Billy. “But I’m having my say about that fucker soon.”

Billy smiled a little, then sighed again. “The rest of the story is short,” he said. “David moved out—left me with the lease—trashed me at work so no one knew what to think about either of us. He basically made my life a misery for months while I figured out how to get myself back together. I left the publishing office seven months later and sub-let the flat, sold all the furniture, moved in with Margo for a while, and started applying for jobs.” He shrugged.

“I swore never to date anyone I worked with again,” Billy said. “The rest of it—the cheating and the hurt feelings, all that shite—that could happen to any relationship.” Dom started to speak, shaking his head in stubborn disagreement, but Billy was still speaking, his voice slowing again. “Any relationship could fall apart, I expect—I’d had a few before David that ended. They weren’t as spectacular, but still shitty. But the work part,” Billy looked down at his knees, “that was terrible. I don’t love my job like, like—”

“It doesn’t make you sweaty and stupid,” Dom said gently.

“Yes, that’s it. It doesn’t make me sweaty and stupid, but I’m good at it,” Billy said mulishly. “I work hard and I take pride in it, and I lost a lot of that when, when everything went to shit.”

Dom nodded, rage simmering under his skin for what Billy had gone through. “You’re good at your job,” he agreed, squeezing Billy’s hand. “I can see why—why this is hard.” He waved his free hand between them, unhappiness making his throat hurt. “I would never—I would _never_ ,” he stammered a little. “I’d never tell you a lie, and even if we broke up, I’d never do something like that.” He looked down, distressed. “Although I guess that’s what anyone would say.”

Billy patted his hand clumsily. “Dommie, my Dom. I know,” he said. “I know you wouldn’t.” He kept patting. “I don’t think you could, t’be honest,” Billy said. “You couldn’t lie if your life depended on it, you carry everything around,” he flapped one hand in the air, “everything right out where anybody could see it, everybody could see it.”

He touched Dom’s cheek with careful, drunken precision, so Dom looked up, looked into his eyes. “I’ve done everything wrong wi’ you,” Billy said. “Broke my own rules, slept with you on the first date, brought you home to meet my cats, introduced you to my sister with some half-arsed story about ‘just good friends,’” he rolled his eyes, “I fucking wanked in my loo and let you watch over the phone, I’ve done every single stupid thing in th’ stupidest way and it’s already better with you after a month than it was with, with anyone else after a year.” He blinked at Dom. “After three years.”

“Oh,” Dom said softly.

“Yeah,” Billy said. He sat back and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck, I want s’more whisky,” he said.

Dom touched his knee. “Let me get you some water.”

Billy nodded tiredly, and Dom climbed to his feet and carried away the bottle and Billy’s glass. In the kitchen he poured himself a splash and threw it back, grimacing, then stoppered the bottle and set it aside. He filled the tumbler with water, gulped half down, and refilled it.

Billy hadn’t moved at all; he was sprawled back against the settee, and Dom folded himself down and handed him the glass. “Better drink it all,” he said, and Billy drank half and then set the glass on the table. “Wanna go to bed?” Dom asked, half hopefully, but Billy shook his head. “Okay,” Dom sighed. He laid down and put his head on Billy’s thigh.

Billy began carding his fingers through Dom’s hair, and Dom closed his eyes and breathed out. “I’m not that nice, y’know,” Billy said quietly.

Dom made a soft sound of disbelief, lulled by Billy’s hand, his lilting voice, his sturdy leg beneath Dom’s cheek.

“The sex,” Billy said, and stopped. He went on after a pause. “I’ve never had sex like we do, Dommie.”

Dom shifted, nodded against Billy’s skin. “Me, either,” he said.

“I don’t know if it’s the best sex I’ve ever had or the worst,” Billy said, and before Dom could sit indignantly up he was patting his shoulder, holding him down. “Not you, you’re the best,” he said, and Dom subsided. “But the way you make me feel—the things you make me want to do.” He inhaled. “I keep thinking of things I want to do t’you,” he said, low, and Dom shifted again.

“Tell me,” Dom said, just as quiet.

“I saw a picture,” Billy said. “Online, you know, of someone tied up in a doorway, with their arms stretched up, ah, up to the corners of the door, and their whole body just—just stretched out, hanging there. And I thought, _I’d like to see Dom like that_.”

“Fuck,” Dom breathed. He could picture it behind his eyelids: himself, cruciform, head fallen back and arms aching with the strain of it. He knew how it would look, how it would feel, how he would struggle against it and how hard it would make him.

“I keep thinking of how I want you to fight it,” Billy said. “I thought about shoving you against a wall, pushing your trousers down just enough, my pants down just enough, fucking you like that—pinned to the wall and taking it, still dressed except for my cock in your arse and you trying to, to fight back, and how much I just want to force you.”

Dom could hear arousal in his voice, and self-loathing. “I want you to force me,” Dom said, low and heated. He reached down and squeezed his cock; heard Billy’s indrawn breath and knew he’d seen, seen how hard he was making Dom.

“I thought of you on your knees, with your hands tied behind your back,” Billy said. His fingers had ceased moving in Dom’s hair, they were motionless now, tangled up. “With a blindfold on. And I thought—” He stopped.

“What did you think?” Dom murmured. His body felt heavy, humming with—what? Anticipation? He imagined being on his knees, tied up. He kept his eyes closed. If he had on a blindfold he wouldn’t be able to see. He sighed, waiting.

Billy spoke again at last. “I thought, _I want to tie Dom up like that and leave him. Go away and then come back and he’ll still be there, on his knees, wrists crossed behind his back, blind and trapped_.”

“Yeah,” Dom said. His blood felt like it had turned to honey, sluggish and sweet in his veins, pulse thumping slow and loud. He licked his lips. “I want that.”

Billy’s fingers trembled on his scalp, and a frisson of goosebumps swept down Dom’s neck, back and arms. “You do?” Billy said.

“Yeah.” Dom breathed in, then out. “Want you to leave me there, not knowing where you are, what’s happening. And then when you come back, you could—you could open my mouth and slide in—push your cock in and fuck my mouth.”

“Dom,” Billy whispered, and Dom couldn’t be still. Eyes still tightly closed, he turned over, threw his arms around Billy’s waist, and pressed his mouth over Billy’s groin. He breathed hotly into the cloth of Billy’s pants, mouthing at the bulge there and squirming to get to a better position.

Billy’s legs spread and Dom opened his eyes; he scrambled sideways awkwardly, lifting and then dropping himself so he was lying on his belly between Billy’s thighs. The coffee table banged his legs and he huffed irritably and shoved his feet back, pushing it away with a clatter.

Billy’s hands were curved around the sides of Dom’s head; he was holding him still and pushing his cock up against Dom’s mouth, grinding against him through the confinement of the boxers. “Dom,” Billy said again, and then, “I want to fuck your mouth, is that—can I—”

Dom groaned and rubbed his face into Billy’s lap; Billy’s cock was a hard ridge through the cotton and Dom set his teeth gently around the shaft, not quite biting, and squeezed. Billy arched up underneath him, breath stuttering out. Dom mouthed and sucked at him, and when Billy finally reached down to fumble his cock through the gap in the boxers, the taste of his naked skin made Dom give a needy, desperate sound as he began sucking in earnest, bobbing his head and twisting against the carpet, rocking his hips looking for friction.

Billy’s fingers were twining in his hair, fisted against his scalp, and he moaned and shoved upward again and again as Dom sucked. “Dom,” Billy choked, “Dom, oh god—fuck,” his voice skidded out of control and he was thrusting up into Dom’s mouth, choking him with his cock as Dom struggled to breathe, swallowing around the head. “ _Dom_ ,” Billy said, voice suddenly soft, and he came, just a small pulse into Dom’s mouth but he held Dom’s head still and jerked his hips up over and over, breathing hard.

Dom took it, swallowed and moaned and squirmed; he couldn’t quite get the right angle or pressure to come and he sucked hard, whimpering frustration as he rocked against the floor.

Billy pulled him, dragged at his shoulders so Dom had to come up. He scrambled to his hands and knees and let Billy guide him until he was straddling Billy’s thighs and Billy could reach down between them and fist Dom roughly through his pants, squeeze and pull until Dom shuddered and came in a hot, messy spurt. Billy thumbed the ridge below the head and Dom jerked and gasped, feeling his come smear, the wet drag of his boxers suddenly unbearable against his sensitized skin. Billy pulled Dom in and kissed him; he tasted of whisky and Dom knew that he himself must taste of Billy’s come. He groaned into Billy’s mouth and sagged back, shivering again as he slipped out of Billy’s tight grip and settled onto Billy’s thighs. Billy kissed his cheek and reached down to tuck himself back into his own boxers.

“Made me come in my pants,” Dom said against Billy’s jaw, slumping forward.

“Shh,” Billy said, and kissed him again, hands sliding over his skin, arms wrapping around him. Dom let himself be kissed, kissed Billy back.

It slowed to a halt eventually, Dom gathered into Billy’s arms and Billy’s face pressed into Dom’s shoulder.

“Tired,” Billy said after a while.

Dom nodded against his neck. “Sticky,” he said. “Your fault.”

He heard Billy’s smile. “Aye.”

Dom sighed. “I don’t want you to, to have me be something that’s not quite right with you,” he confessed in a small voice.

Billy gave a short, jerky nod, face still hidden.

“But I also don’t want you to go away,” Dom said. “You’ve never given me anything that I didn’t—that I didn’t want, or need.” He lifted his head, shifted back so Billy would have to look up at him; Billy did and Dom went on, slowly: feeling his way and looking into Billy’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re falling in love,” he said softly. “I’ve wanted you since before the first time, the, the tapas, you know?”

Billy nodded.

“I’ll take you any way I can get you. As a friend or a friend with benefits or a lover,” Dom blushed but didn’t look away, “whatever you can give me, whatever I can have, I want.” He looked down, finally. “If this is you being stupid, doing things the stupidest way, then I want you to be stupid—sweaty and stupid—over me,” he said with a tiny smile. “Because I am, over you.” He sighed again, finally, and sank back into Billy’s embrace. “And there’s nothing you’ve done or told me you want to do that’s frightened me,” he said quietly. “I want it all, I want you to think of new things and do them to me.” Dom shivered. “I want all of it.”

“Do you?” Billy murmured.

Dom shook his head, at himself rather than Billy. “D’you know how it makes me feel?” His eyes were unfocused, unseeing as he tried to articulate it. “It’s like—I don’t know, it’s hard to say. You know how I told you I run because it uses up my energy?” He felt rather than saw Billy’s nod, his chin bumping Dom’s head. “That’s true, but the other reason I run, maybe the real reason, is because it makes my brain turn off. Everything in me is always moving, my brain is always going—like you said, I carry everything around, out where everyone can see it.” Billy nodded again, and Dom turned his face, pressed it into Billy’s skin for a moment. “D’you know how tiring that is?” he said against the swell of his chest.

“It sounds it,” Billy said, holding him close.

“It is.” Dom blinked down at his hands, twisted together, resting in his lap as he rested in Billy’s. “When I run all that turns off for a while. Everything goes quiet. I need that.” He rubbed his cheek against Billy’s chest, feeling the scritch of hair over warm skin. “When you—when you hold me, hold me down, take, take control,” he stuttered, “then—it’s like running. Everything turns off and I don’t have to think, I just get to feel and be there and be, be yours.” He hated how hard it was to say it, felt himself flushing with heat again. “It’s good, Billy, it’s better than good, I need it. I’ve never—I’ve never had it before like I do with you, like we do, together.” He was silent for several heartbeats. “I don’t need it every day, or all the time,” he said, lifting his head and looking into Billy’s face again. “But when it happens, it’s—it makes me feel good. Better than good.”

Billy’s head was tilted a little, his green eyes tired but alert; he nodded, a small movement.

Dom gave a long shaky sigh and nodded back. “Like I said. If I make you sweaty and stupid, I’m glad, because it’s mutual.”

Billy held him; ran his hands over Dom’s back in random patterns. “You do at that,” Billy said. He gathered him closer, hugged him, spoke into Dom’s shoulder again. “It scares me sometimes, how easy things are with you.” He butted his head gently against Dom. “Makes it hard to trust myself. And I do worry,” he added, “I worry that I’ll hurt you, in bed or out of it.”

Dom nodded. “I’ll tell you if you hurt me,” he offered.

“That would be good,” Billy said, then lapsed into silence. “My legs are falling asleep,” he finally said.

“My everything is falling asleep,” Dom agreed. “It must be past three.”

They got up slowly. Billy drank the rest of his water and Dom went to the bathroom, where he peeled off the boxers and used a damp cloth to clean up. He went into the bedroom and turned on the lamp, shooed Francie off his pillow and climbed under the covers naked. He could hear Billy moving around in the kitchen, and a moment later he appeared in the doorway.

“You take some aspirins?” Dom asked.

Billy nodded and came to the bed. He stood looking down at Dom for a minute. Dom blinked back up at him. He was too tired to try and hide anything, and he wondered if Billy could see his want and need and yeah, love, and his fear that Billy might decide to walk away, and his determination to make it impossible for Billy to leave him behind.

“Come on,” Dom said, and patted the duvet.

Billy nodded again and slid under the covers. He leaned to turn out the light and then rolled back to Dom. They curled together in the warm dark of the bed and Dom slid into sleep with Billy’s arm over his waist, and his face pressed into Billy’s neck.


	15. A CHAPTER IN THE HAND IS WORTH TWO IN THE BUSH

Dom woke up at 6:30 a.m. as he always did; his body and brain reminded him that there had been a sleep interruption in the middle of the night, but he dragged himself out of bed anyway. He pulled on his running clothes and trainers, fed the kitties—Josie had progressed to letting Dom pet him as he ate—and then went to the basement. He started his laundry and headed outside.

It was damp and dark, the streets empty at seven on a Saturday morning in January, and Dom ran and ran—around the neighborhood, across the High and past the entrance to the Tube station, the length of Whetstone Stray and back. His mind was empty, washed clean by exhaustion and the rhythm of his feet on paving or gravel or grass. It began to rain as he left the Stray and came back onto Totteridge, and by the time he got to the coffee shop he was wet to the skin. The counter girl gave him a sympathetic look—he just grinned and shook his head like a dog, making her laugh—and she wrapped up his pastries carefully, so they wouldn’t get wet in their carrier bag on the walk from there.

Dom gripped the bag and ran again, half a block to Billy’s building. He let himself in; sloshed to the basement and moved his laundry along, leaving his soaked trainers on the floor to dry. His socks left wet prints on the lino in the corridor, and as soon as he got through the door into Billy’s flat he stripped. He left the pastries he’d bought in the kitchen and then scurried to the bathroom, where he tossed his sodden clothes into a heap in the corner and stepped gratefully under the hot spray of the shower. He was so cold the warm water felt like it was burning his skin, but he thawed quickly, standing with his head bowed under the beat of the shower, eyes closed as everything washed away. 

Billy was still asleep; Dom tiptoed into the bedroom for warm, clean clothes—including one of Billy’s hoodies, which he snuck out of the closet—then made coffee. He sat at the dining table with his coffee and a pastry, and listened to the rain falling. Dom wrapped his hands around the warm mug and closed his eyes and waited for whatever would happen next.

 

~*~

 

Billy woke up after noon, when Josie stepped on his bladder, and it became immediately clear that he needed to get to the loo immediately if not sooner. He jostled Josie gently off his belly and staggered out of the room to the toilet. His head ached, but not too terribly; the real issue was his mouth, which tasted like death, and his conscience, which was currently providing far more reason for nausea than the wee dram (or two, or five) of whisky he’d disposed of last night.

He relieved himself, took two aspirins, and brushed his teeth, which helped with three problems but did nothing for the fourth. As he brushed he noticed a heap of wet clothes in one corner. He was unable to deal with this mystery when others loomed (why,  _ why  _ had he felt the need to tell Dom he was falling in love with him? And  _ then  _ every sordid detail about his cock-up with David? And  _ then  _ all the ways in which he looked forward to inflicting pain on Dom?  _ Why _ , oh god,  _ why? _ ), and so Billy looked incuriously away from the wet clothes and used the mouthwash.

He spinelessly retreated back into the bedroom to dress, then spent three minutes petting Francie, who had curled up on Dom’s pillow. (Dom had a pillow. This was not news. Billy gritted his teeth and refused to think about it.) Unable to put it off any longer, and lured by the faint smell of coffee from elsewhere in the flat, Billy ventured out to the lounge.

Dom was at the dining table, laptop open in front of him, half-full cup of coffee at his elbow, pastry crumbs liberally sprinkled across the table’s surface. He looked alertly up at Billy. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Billy said. He scratched his head. “There’s coffee?”

“And pastries from Costa,” Dom said. “How’s your head?”

“Enh,” Billy said. He padded into the kitchen; Josie and Francie appeared by magic, curling around his ankles and mewing piteously.

“They’ve been fed,” Dom called from the other room. 

Billy scowled down at the cats. “Leave off,” he said, and tried not to trip over them as he poured a cup of coffee and rustled a pastry from the bag. He wrapped it in a serviette and came to sit at the table. Dom hospitably shifted his laptop to one side, brushing crumbs away from Billy’s place.

“S’okay,” Billy mumbled around a mouthful of bread, but Dom ignored him and swept his crumbs into a little pile in front of himself.

“Sleep okay?” Dom asked.

Billy nodded; swallowed. “You?”

Dom wagged his head slightly. “Okay,” he said. “Stupid brain woke me up at the same time I get up to run before work.”

One mystery solved. “You should fire that thing.”

“I should.” Dom poked at the crumbs. “You slept till noon. Smart man.” He licked his finger and then poked them again; licked off the crumbs that stuck to his fingertip. 

Billy rolled his eyes. “There’s another Danish if you’re still hungry.”

Dom looked guilty. “Er.”

“What do you want to do today?” Billy asked.

“You,” Dom said, then closed his eyes, looking semi-horrified at himself. “Sorry.”

Annoyance bubbled up. “Don’t know why you’re sorry,” Billy muttered. He ate his pastry and kept his eyes on the table. 

Dom was quiet for a while. He finally said, “I’ve got to do some studying—there’s a quiz I need to take by tonight—and I suppose I’ll finish my laundry. Other than that, no plans.” He sounded tentative, and Billy kept himself to a nod.

Dom stood up and tidied—brushed the crumbs he’d collected into his coffee mug, stuffed in the serviette, and carried all of it to the kitchen. Billy could hear him in there, the rustle of the bags, the tap running for a moment and then the distinctive whine of the pint-sized dishwasher being opened.

Billy pushed his mug and half the danish away and lay his head on his folded arms on the table. He didn’t hear Dom come out of the kitchen, but he was aware of him hovering a minute or two later—the sound of his breathing, perhaps, or the warmth of his body. 

“Okay there?” Dom asked, and brushed a hand across his hair.

Billy sat up. “I’m fine,” he snipped.

Dom flicked his ear. “Good.” He scooped up his laptop and went into the lounge.

Billy rolled his eyes and looked out the window at the grey sky and icy rain. “A glorious day,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I’m going to shower.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” Dom said tartly. “You reek.”

Billy shot him a look and didn’t bother to rebut this. He swallowed down the last of his coffee and stood; headed into the kitchen with his mug.

“You forgot your danish,” Dom called.

“I’m going to eat the rest later,” Billy replied loudly, not caring that his irritation was audible. He set his mug in the sink.

“If Francie leaves you any,” Dom said, with just as much volume and no irritation at all.

Billy closed his eyes and stood still in the kitchen for a minute; stalked into the living area and picked up his danish with exaggerated patience, carried it into the kitchen and wrapped it in the carrier bag again.

As he crossed the lounge, headed for the loo, Dom said sweetly, “Enjoy your shower, Bills.”

Billy gritted his teeth and didn’t answer.

 

… 

 

Billy was sitting on the sofa flipping through the channels for the twelfth time when Dom finally closed his laptop. “Quiz taken, chapter conquered,” he announced, and jumped up from the dining table. He stretched—Billy couldn’t help it, he watched from the corner of his eye because Dom stretched as though he’d been taking lessons from the cats, it was a whole-body experience and very distracting—and sauntered into the lounge. “Whatcha watching?”

Billy huffed and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. “Nothing, it’s all shite today.”

“Wanna blow job?” Dom asked, and waggled his eyebrows.

Billy shrugged.

“All right, that’s it,” Dom said. He took a flying leap and landed atop Billy on the settee.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?!” is what Billy tried to say, but all that came out was “What the aaaaaaugh!” as Dom climbed further onto him and began viciously tickling him. Billy struggled wildly but Dom had toppled him onto his back on the cushions and was clinging to him like a monkey; he had one of Billy’s arms pinned with his leg, and he was using his left hand to repeatedly slap Billy’s free hand away from defense, and his right hand to target every soft and vulnerable spot on Billy’s body.

“Stop—fucking—acting—like—a wanker,” Dom was chanting breathlessly. Billy tried to buck him off but Dom bounced hard and came down on Billy’s stomach, so Billy  _ oof _ ed as all the air abruptly left his lungs.

Dom wriggled and squirmed until he was sitting on Billy’s diaphragm, knees pinning Billy’s shoulders and hands hovering threateningly over Billy’s armpits and neck.

“You done?” Dom demanded, leaning down and speaking into Billy’s face. 

“Fuck off,” Billy managed, and tried to heave his whole body sideways onto the floor—he knew if he could get Dom off him he’d have a fighting chance.

Dom went straight for Billy’s armpit and Billy screeched and fell back, trying to curl up and away from Dom’s attentions.

Dom stopped, still thoroughly in control of the encounter. He shoved his face into Billy’s. “Ready to stop being an arsehole?” 

“I’m going to kill everyone you love,” Billy gasped, trying to get his breath back.

Dom  _ licked  _ him: an enthusiastic,  _ wet _ , disgusting lick from chin to forehead up one side of his face.

“Arrrgh!” Billy shrieked, face screwed up. “Fine! Fine! I’ll stop!”

“Stop what?” Dom demanded in a sugary voice.

Billy opened one eye. “Stop being an arsehole,” he said.

“Great,” Dom said cheerfully, and sat up and back.

Billy shoved him off and scrambled upright, rubbing his sleeve repeatedly over his face. “You’re such a shit,” he complained.

Dom collapsed back onto the sofa, disheveled and out of breath. “But I’m a shit you’re falling in love with,” he sing-songed, and Billy froze. 

He dropped his arm and stood there, looking down at Dom’s smug pink face and his stupid crooked grin, his lump of a nose and ridiculous ears and the happy wicked glint in his blue eyes.

Billy sighed. “Such a shit,” he repeated, and flopped down next to Dom.

Dom pushed him over and climbed atop him, carefully this time. He draped himself over Billy and kissed his lips. “Let’s make out for a while and then go see a movie,” he said. “Now that I’ve selflessly saved you from wankerdom.”

Billy huffed and ran his hands down Dom’s back. “You’re a terrible friend,” he said.

“I’m an amazing friend,” Dom said, and bit his jaw gently. “I’m just the kind of friend you need.”

“That may be true,” Billy admitted. He pushed his hands into Dom’s hair and closed his eyes as Dom met his lips.

 

~*~

 

“That movie was awful,” Dom insisted as they clattered back through the door late that evening.

“It was just… daring,” Billy said. “They were trying something new.”

“Well, it didn’t work,” Dom said with certainty.

Billy fed the cats and started the dishwasher; Dom went back out to collect his last load of laundry from the dryer. He carried everything back upstairs, dumped it onto the sofa, and began folding.

“Easier to do that on the bed,” Billy said, putting his arms around Dom from the back. He nuzzled Dom’s neck. “Or we could go use the bed.”

Dom let his head fall forward. “Mmm.”

“Come on,” Billy said, and Dom let himself be pulled away. It wasn’t like the clothes were going to get more wrinkled than they already were.

They stopped to kiss in the dim hall and again in the doorway of the bedroom. Dom tipped his head back against the door frame and Billy took him up on the silent invitation: he kissed and nuzzled at Dom’s neck, biting and sucking as his hands slid under Dom’s shirt.

“Yeah,” Dom sighed, hands skimming over Billy. “God, I love your mouth.”

“Get undressed,” Billy murmured against his jaw. He pulled back and both of them stripped. They left everything where it fell and came together to kiss again, hotter and more urgent now. Dom reached down and wrapped his hand around Billy, cock thickening in his hand as he worked it in slow, tight strokes. Billy’s breathing hitched against his mouth and he pulled at Dom’s shoulders, walked backward, pulling Dom along until they fell together onto the bed, Dom over Billy. Dom caught himself on his hands and knees, then reached between them to grasp Billy’s cock again.

“Want you inside me,” Dom breathed, and Billy nodded. 

“Let me get you ready,” Billy said, arching up, pushing himself through the tight circle of Dom’s fingers with a groan. 

Dom let go and laid back; let Billy roll away to get the lube. The light was faint, just whatever made it from the distant lounge. Billy was a shadow man as he came back, as he leaned over Dom and slid one lube-slick hand over his cock, down over his balls and back up, stroking and playing as Dom sighed and let everything relax. He loved how it felt to go loose and open, the weight of his cock, tight and wanting, contrasted with the complete ease of the rest of his body. He sprawled back further, legs splayed in invitation, and Billy spilled more lube over him, massaging and spreading it lower, fingers rubbing gently over his arsehole.

“Sore from yesterday?” Billy asked quietly, and Dom shook his head  _ no  _ as Billy lowered his head to suck at one of Dom’s nipples, one finger slipping inward far below. 

“Bill,” Dom said. He felt his need starting to wind tighter, desire beginning to spark and fizz in his veins. He shifted restlessly. “Come on.”

“Let me go slow,” Billy said. He kissed Dom, lush and intent, and began sliding two fingers in deep. Dom kissed him back and then gasped into his mouth as Billy found his prostate. “Right there,” Billy whispered, and Dom whined, eyes closing again as Billy’s wet fingers pushed into him over and over. “Shhhh,” Billy said, “let me.”

Dom tried to nod; he knew it was good—remembered the first time Billy had done this to him, lying on his own bed that night in December, Billy leaning over him just like this, narrow talented fingers pulling pleasure out of him endlessly—but it was difficult at first, he was too in his head and besides, “I want you in me,” he moaned.

Billy kissed him again, pulled back just enough to speak. “I want that, too,” he said. “I will be.” He sat up, squirted even more lube over Dom’s cock, liquid dripping downward, wet sliding down to where Billy was fucking him with three fingers, now. Dom shivered, his hands flying up to grasp his own hair in an effort to stay still. “God, that’s pretty,” Billy sighed, and Dom groaned long and low, hips juddering in counterpoint to Billy’s fingers.

Billy changed the strokes. On each inward slide he paused, held his fingers deep and shifted his fingertips back and forth over that sweet, aching place inside Dom’s body; then he pulled back slowly, pushed in and did it all over again. 

Dom felt need building, pooling deep in his body with every press and rub; he tried to say Billy’s name but it just came out as air and then everything coalesced into a deep, shuddering pleasure and he was arching, shivering as orgasm washed over him and out of him, thighs tight as his hips bucked and the pleasure spilled through his whole body.

He came back down shaking. “What,” he tried to say, “I don’t—what—”

Billy was climbing onto him, leaning down to kiss him hard and desperate even as he spread Dom’s legs open and slid into his body. “Let me, let me,” he was whispering urgently, and Dom opened himself, pulled at Billy even as Billy began to thrust. 

“Yeah,” Dom slurred, head still floating somewhere faraway, “c’mon, do it.” As Billy pressed himself inward Dom whimpered, wrapping his arms around Billy’s shoulders and arching back. “Oh god,” Dom moaned, “how—how—” Every deep thrust grazed Dom’s prostate and even as he clenched around Billy in agonized pleasure he couldn’t understand how he could still feel everything so much, how could he be— “yes,  _ fuck! _ ” —hard?

Billy slowed, thrusting more gently; he pushed himself up over Dom with one hand, using the other to push Dom’s hair out of his eyes. “It was a prostate orgasm,” Billy panted. “You can have as many as you want.” He grinned down at Dom, a fierce gleam of pleasure and happiness, and Dom blinked and laughed breathlessly.

“When’d you learn to do—” he moaned and laughed again as Billy pushed in deep— “that?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been studying,” Billy said. 

Dom closed his eyes and threw his arms out. “Do it again,” he demanded, grinning, and Billy laughed and curled over him and fucked him deep and hard until Dom felt it all spiraling upward again. He knew what to expect and this time he let it take him completely. The orgasm flooded over his whole body and from somewhere far away he heard his voice sobbing out Billy’s name, knew he was clutching him too tightly but didn’t care, there was only the rush of bliss and the long, slow descent back into his body.

“So gorgeous,” Billy was crooning, moving slowly now, “look at you now, ah, look at you.” He was propped over Dom on his elbows, hips still rocking gently into him as his hands smoothed over Dom’s face. Dom opened his eyes, dazed and drunk-feeling, and Billy smiled at him. 

There was something so tender and fond in Billy’s gaze—Dom closed his eyes again in the face of his own surge of tenderness, wrapped his arms around Billy and held on.

Billy kissed his face—his lips, his chin, his cheeks, his closed eyes—and carried on moving in him, deep and sweet and slow. “Come here, my Dom,” he said, and shifted; Dom opened his eyes and went, as Billy pulled them onto their sides, facing one another. He slipped out of Dom and both of them made the same frustrated sound.

Dom laughed and shifted, wriggling until his legs were wrapped around Billy’s torso, almost, he was curled around Billy even as Billy was curled around and holding him tight. “You close?” he asked Billy gently, smiling up at him, head pillowed on one arm.

Billy looked down between them for a moment to guide himself as he pressed back into Dom; they both sighed in satisfaction. “I am,” Billy said, smiling back. “I know I promised you could have more orgasms, but I think I’m going to come before I can deliver much more.” He closed his eyes and breathed, soft eddy of air over Dom’s face as Billy began to move within him again.

Dom traced his features with one finger. Their eyes had adjusted to the dim light and Dom could see clearly, he could see everything. Billy was sweaty and flushed and beautiful, hair sticking to his neck and forehead, lashes closed against his ruddy cheeks. Dom pushed Billy’s hair back and leaned forward to kiss him. “I want you to come in me,” Dom murmured against his lips. “Bill. Please.”

“It’d be hard to stop me,” Billy said; his light voice at odds with the tiny furrow between his brows as he began moving faster. “I want you to come again, too.” His eyes fluttered closed, his breath hitched, and Dom kissed him again, ran one hand down his side. 

“I’m going to come for you,” Dom whispered. He closed his eyes and curled into Billy, sliding his free hand down between their bellies. His cock was hard and aching, a tight weight in his hand, slippery with lube and precome and sweat. He began stroking it and gasped a little, his balls already tight and heavy, drawing up. “Not going to last,” he panted.

“Come for me,” Billy said; his hips slapped inward harder and Dom whimpered, working himself faster. 

“Bill—” Dom hitched, “I’m—I’m—” He trembled and jerked and came, head falling back as his muscles clenched, hips shoving forward as his cock spurted onto Billy’s belly and chest. Dom cried out and then collapsed, clinging weakly to Billy.

Billy groaned, face screwed up as if in pain, and bucked inward three or four times, finally holding himself tightly within Dom, as deep as he could get as he came in long shuddering pulses. Dom held him close with trembling limbs, wrapping him up as best he could and murmuring to him: “Yes, all of it, everything, Billy, every last everything.” He hummed nonsense and petted his hair as Billy sagged against him.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy murmured after some time, head resting against Dom’s chest.

Dom kept stroking his hair and neck. “Call me Dom,” he said, and Billy huffed and bit at his skin. “Ouch,” Dom said, and tugged Billy’s earlobe. “Cannibal.”

“Big words from a man who swallows every time,” Billy said.

Dom laughed, startled, and squeezed Billy, then whined protest as Billy shifted and slipped out of him. “Noooo, I like you there.”

“Mmm,” Billy said, “me, too.” He lifted his head and kissed Dom, a long, slow, warm kiss. When they separated to breathe Billy sighed. “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.”

“I guess the flesh deserves a break,” Dom allowed. “I’m kind of hungry.”

Billy groaned and dropped his head onto Dom’s shoulder. “No, it’s bedtime.”

“It’s 9 p.m.,” Dom said disbelievingly. “And you slept until noon.” He patted Billy’s bottom.

“I was up late,” Billy said, his face hidden against Dom’s collarbone. “Being a prat.”

“Sweaty and stupid,” Dom said. He smoothed his hand over Billy’s head, slid his fingers into his fine, fair hair. “For me.”

Billy didn’t move; he spoke into Dom’s body. “You never said—” He stopped.

Dom tugged at him, held him closer for a moment. “Never said what?” he asked. He thought he knew.

“Nothing,” Billy said. He shifted, pulled back and looked into Dom’s face. “So you’re hungry?” he asked.

Dom gazed steadily at him. “I never said what?” he asked gently.

Billy looked down. “Nothing,” he said. And then: “That you—that you feel the same.”

“Ah.” Dom shivered and bumped his forehead against Billy’s for a moment. “You make me sweaty and stupid, Bill,” he said.

Billy smiled; his eyes were still down, so Dom saw the curve of his lashes, echoed by the tender, tantalizing curve of his lips. “Good,” he said.

Dom sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. It wasn’t quite enough. He touched Billy’s cheek, his ear; curled his hand around Billy’s neck, fingers light on his nape. “I already fell in love with you,” Dom said, and it felt like his heart flipped over. “I’m not falling in love, I  _ fell _ .” He closed his eyes and tried to just keep breathing.

“Oh,” Billy said. Dom felt his breath first, then his lips, ghosting over Dom’s cheekbone, his jaw, and finally his lips. Billy kissed him softly and said, “That’s all right, then.”


	16. THIS ISN'T A CHAPTER IT'S AN EPILOGUE

The lounge was far too full of people and animals; Billy made a face and hoisted the cat carrier up from where it sat in what had been a quiet corner, and lugged it into Dom’s bare, stripped-down bedroom. He put it down in the center of the floor and crouched, peering in. Francie and Josie looked back, both wide-eyed and silent, and he sighed. “Sorry, lads,” he said, and thumped back onto his bum. He’d sit with them for a moment. “I know it’s a bit of a nightmare, but it’ll improve when Margo gets you out of here in a little while.” He stuck a finger through the wire front, and Francie sniffed it. “You’ll like living with her, you did it before.”

Josie yawned and settled into a crouch, and Francie licked his fingertip. Billy sent up a silent thank-you to whoever had invented cat tranquilisers.

The door opened behind him, letting in a wash of sound, and Billy looked over his shoulder to see Dom. “Trying to give the boys a bit of quiet,” Billy said. “Pre-flight farewell parties are no place for drugged-up felines.”

Dom nodded and closed the door behind himself. “Good idea.” He went to the dresser and looked at Bella, her terrarium the only thing on its surface. “Do you think she’ll miss me?” he asked.

“Sure she will,” Billy replied, although he doubted it. “But she’ll be in good hands with Sam and Lij.”

“They’ve been feeding her most weekends,” Dom agreed. He sat down on the bare floor and peeked at the cats. “Hi guys,” he said softly.

“They’re okay,” Billy said. “Not too much longer for them, anyhow.” He sighed.

Dom put an arm around Billy’s shoulders. “They’ll miss you, but Margaret will take good care of them.”

“It’s just for a few months,” Billy said. He spoke to the pet carrier. “You’ll be in New Zealand before you know it, lads.”

“Wiping out whole species of unprepared birds and rodents,” Dom said dryly.

“We’ll keep them indoors,” Billy said indignantly. “Our cats won’t be wiping out anything except wee moths that get in the house.”

“All the other environmental activists are going to to make fun of me,” Dom said. He leaned down and spoke to Josie. “And you still barely like me.”

“Francie likes you,” Billy said. “And Josie’s warmed up a bit.”

Dom snorted. “What’s the name of the house, again?” he asked.

Billy dug his phone from a pocket and poked at it for a second. “Crickhollow. Want to see the pictures again?” He offered the phone to Dom.

“Nope, I know what it looks like,” Dom said. “Can’t believe you trusted Miranda to find us a house, though.”

“She’s the only person we know in New Zealand,” Billy protested. He looked at the pictures. The house was lovely—tidy and homey, with a high hedge in the front and a back garden with a gate onto a park. “And it’s a miracle we work at the only firm in London with a Wellington office, anyway. And another miracle that they had a place for me.” He shook his head in wonder.

For three years, he and Dom had spent every weekend touching one another in every possible way and every week at Weta carefully not touching one another at all: no hugging, no kissing, no hand-holding, nothing. Even when they argued—which they did, sometimes ferociously—they’d been careful to leave it outside the office. When Dom had graduated and gotten the job offer at ECO in New Zealand, Billy had gone to Peter and Fran with dread in his heart. To not only give notice, but to confess to a multi-year relationship with a coworker—his belly had been in knots.

“We thought you might be leaving us,” Fran had said, smiling. “When Dom came and told us he’d got a new job in New Zealand, we figured you wouldn’t be far behind.”

“But, how, what,” Billy had stammered, looking from one to the other. “How’d you know we were, we were—”

Peter looked puzzled. “How did you think we _wouldn’t_ know?” he asked. “You two have been thick as thieves practically since you got here.”

“You leave together every Friday and come in together every Monday,” Fran said, rolling her eyes. “We just told everyone to respect your privacy, and let it be.”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate to have people asking you about it in the workplace,” Pete said, looking slightly offended.

Billy closed his mouth with a snap. “I guess we should have… told you?” he offered tentatively. His brain was suddenly offering up about twenty times when he’d seen coworkers look fondly at him and Dom in the break room, at various office parties, at—he closed his eyes in dawning realization—Dom’s graduation ceremony three months ago, where Billy had sat clutching a program and applauding more loudly than anyone else.

“I don’t see why,” Fran said with a kindly shrug. “It was none of our concern.”

“Oh,” Billy said, and he’d sat there feeling stupid, thinking of all the times he could have hugged Dom, or Dom could’ve hugged him.

“Listen, though,” Peter had said, interrupting that particular train of thought, “do you already have a job lined up? You remember that Miranda transferred to our Wellington office, of course,” Billy nodded, “and if you’re in the market, we may have something for you.”

And then he and Fran had offered him a job in New Zealand, and Billy’s mouth had fallen open again, and by the time he left their offices, he’d felt like a prize fool, but also a lucky one. And he’d gone to Dom’s desk and told him, and then Dom had stood up and kissed him across the counter for the first time ever, and he’d felt even more of a lucky fool than before.

“We work for a really good firm,” Billy said now, sitting on the bare floor in Dom’s room.

“Worked,” Dom said, stressing the past tense with a sharp click of his tongue. “You work, I _worked_.” He looked smug. “I’m going to be saving the world.”

“You’re going to be answering phones and signing for the post,” Billy said.

“But I’ll be doing it in New Zealand,” Dom said, “and I’m also going to be tramping around in swamps and on beaches and in the mountains, and teaching kids about the environment, and helping write policy papers for conservation groups.” He looked enormously pleased. “And feeling sorry for you, stuck in a server room somewhere and not saving the world at all.”

“You’re a terrible friend,” Billy said.

“I’m the best friend you’ll ever have,” Dom said, and kissed him, sweet and warm enough that Billy was flushed with the heat of it when Dom pulled away. After three years Dom’s kisses could still do that, turn him upside down and leave him dizzy.

“You’re ridiculous, but—” Billy kissed him back, with interest— “that’s certainly true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dammit, I _knew_ we shouldn't have let Miranda pick our house!" Dom said, sneezing for the eighth time in a row. He blew his nose loudly and glared accusingly out the front window at the large flowering trees that stood along the front fence.
> 
> Billy sighed. "She'd no way of knowing you were allergic, Dommie," he said. " _You_ didn't even have a way of knowing you were allergic."
> 
> "Well, I know now," Dom pointed out, waving his tissue about.
> 
> "Eurgh, throw that thing away," Billy said, making a face. 
> 
> Dom sneezed again. "I _can't_ ," he said. "I need it!"
> 
> Billy handed him a fresh tissue and a flat of allergy pills. "I'll shout at Miranda tomorrow at the office," he said soothingly.
> 
> Dom sneezed. "You'd better."
> 
> "And the nice men from ECO will come and dig them up and rehome them somewhere else next week," Billy continued. 
> 
> Dom snuffled, looking out the window. "They are pretty," he said grudgingly. "I'm glad we're not just cutting them down."
> 
> Billy approached from the rear--the only safe direction, really--and kissed Dom's nape. "We're still learning what works, eh?"
> 
> Dom nodded and sniffed again. "I still blame Miranda," he muttered mutinously.
> 
> Billy pressed his smile to Dom's shoulder. "I know, my Dommie."


End file.
